Red Like Roses
by Polariswarrior
Summary: Harry's first failed case as an auror causes her to end up in an alternate universe where 1) magic doesn't exist and 2) some people don't understand what it means to stay dead. Steve just wanted to help clean up the mess left over by the Chitauri invasion. Harry and Steve becoming friends wasn't a part of either one of their plans. Fem!Harry, BWL!Neville, eventual HP/SR.
1. Prologue

Harry was going to get hit by a car. Which was odd, considering how just a moment ago Harry was standing in a white mist that was extremely reminiscent of what Neville went through when he was hit with the killing curse – though instead of talking with Dumbledore like Neville did, Harry had an argument with a small child.

The child had worn a black cloak, her skin was pale, and she looked like Harry around the age of 10, except Harry doesn't have black eyes nor does she look like a corpse come to life. Harry couldn't remember what the argument was about, but she could remember herself asserting "My name is Harriet Rose Peverell and I have the cloak to prove it."

A moment before the argument, she had foiled Johann Schmidt's plan, which would have been nice if it hadn't been for the fact that it had happened too late. At least ten people were dead because of Schmidt and she was unable to prevent even one of the deaths. She may have stopped Schmidt from accomplishing his goal but she was counting the whole case as a failure.

Her first failed case and it ends with her being hit by a car. She wasn't surprised by the turn of events – her luck was terrible, though the car was new; normally when things went wrong in her life she had to face a troll, or dementors, or a couple of Death Eaters, or any other magical thing that likes to kill people.

The car slammed into her at full speed, her appearance too sudden for the driver to slow down. Her body rag dolled, her head slammed into the hood of the car and then her entire body was thrown several dozen meters down the road. Harry was unconscious before she hit the ground.

* * *

Harry woke up to an alien attack – an honest to Merlin alien attack. Granted, she was in a hospital room away from the actual attack, but that didn't stop her from sitting in her hospital bed watching as New York City was attacked by an army of aliens.

And she wasn't the only one watching the attack as it happened live on the news. Doctors, nurses, patients, janitors, everyone who wasn't comatose was watching in awe, horror, and panic as the fate of the world rested on six people in crazy outfits.

Six people in crazy outfits fighting against incredible odds – it was a story Harry was all too familiar with. She just hoped they had better luck than she and her friends did.

She had woken up during the attack, so no nurse or doctor had come in to check on her, though her roommate – an elderly woman – and her family were watching the TV as Harry slowly came back into consciousness. Harry had let out a small involuntary groan as she woke, drawing their attention away from the attack and onto her. They had helped her sit up in bed and handed Harry her glasses so she could actually see what was happening.

They told her she was lucky to have survived the accident. Apparently the car was going over 60 mph when it rammed into her and all she got from it was a couple cuts and bruises.

"Yeah, lucky enough to have survived to see an alien attack," she replied, nodding towards the TV. She knew her magic had protected her from any serious damage from the accident, and it was just her luck that she woke up to aliens.

They fell silent after the exchange, the muggles were stunned into silent disbelief while Harry tried to think of possible reasons to why she was having problems thinking – which was a difficult task when paired with the constant distraction of the TV. It took her far longer than she was willing to admit to find the IV located in her left arm, and took her even longer to remember that muggles have pain medication that can severely affect a person's brain functions.

She was high on pain killers and New York City was going to get bombed.

Wonderful.

Harry contemplated whether she should pull her IV out when she was interrupted by a loud cheer that erupted from her roommate and her family. Harry looked up in time to see the aliens drop dead. The attack was over.

The euphoria was infectious and Harry could hear celebrations happening outside her room. The family was cheering as if their team had just won the Quidditch World Cup: they jumped up and down, they cheered their exuberance, and embraced each other with smiles on their faces. Some of them broke out into applause, and one of them hugged Harry, though it didn't last long on account of the fact that Harry tensed at the contact. It all reminded Harry of the Battle, and how everyone celebrated when Neville finally killed Voldemort.

Everyone celebrates except for the people who end the fight.

Harry resigned herself to the fact that she would probably not see her doctor for a couple of hours and instead she focused on the news. There wasn't much the news could report on the event except their disbelief that such an event had occurred and their relief over the fact that it was done. Much of what was being discussed was "what should happen next" issues such as cleanup of the city, and rescue efforts for trapped civilians, and etcetera. The news anchors also kept referring to something called 9-11, which if Harry understood everything correctly was something that had happened to New York and was just as devastating as an alien attack.

In all honesty, Harry was growing bored by the coverage and how those on the TV knew just as much as Harry herself did. She was just about to ask the others if she could switch the channel when the news cut to a live feed coming from the site of the main fight, where swat cars and men in full combat gear and guns were surrounding seven people, one of whom was handcuffed while the other six stood around him.

Their body language was telling; the one in handcuffs put on an air of defeat, though Harry didn't trust that he was completely beaten, and the six surrounding him were on high alert, six coils ready to burst into action at the slightest bit of provocation.

Harry stared at the seven in disbelief and she started to laugh.

The seven people on the screen – she knew them.

"…-side Stark Tower where Tony Stark and …"

Harry's laughter rang out in the room which caused the family to smile. They thought she had gotten over her shock and was finally expressing her jubilation at the victory. Except Harry wasn't laughing out of joy, she was laughing out of disbelief.

They were dead. Two poisoned, two stabbed, two hanged, one beheaded. Five of the seven she had only seen in pictures – still bodies against moving backgrounds. Loki, the man in handcuffs, Harry had met in person, though at the time he was an inferius sent by Schmidt to kill Harry.

The only one of the seven she had actually talked to was Tony Stark, a young wizard in his mid-twenties who was constantly rebelling against his pureblood-loving father by immersing himself in the muggle world. His wand had been hornbeam, his obsession had been machines. Tony had picked the muggle world over the magical one and it infuriated just about everyone he knew.

The last time Harry had seen Tony was when he was beheaded by Obadiah Stane, Howard Starks' business partner and Tony's godfather. Now she watched as Tony Stark, who couldn't have been over twenty years older than the last time she had seen him, interacted with the others on the TV and all she could do was laugh.

She laughed because the alternative was to cry.

Schmidt's plan had been to travel to an alternate universe in order to gain power. The universe he wanted to travel to would have magical items that, when united, would make the possessor invincible. It was one of the dumbest things Harry had ever heard, but Schmidt believed in the stories with conviction; so much so that he uncovered an extremely dark ritual that would send him to any universe he wanted. The ritual required sacrifices, seven to be exact, and the sacrifices had to be of people who were ordinary in their own world but extraordinary in the world the person wished to travel to. And unlike most rituals it required that the person who wanted to travel must not be the one doing the killings.

Harry didn't think Schmidt's plan would work.

But it did.

Except instead of Schmidt it was Harry who ended up in the alternate universe. And Harry had no idea how to get back home.

All she knew was that Tony Stark and his friends definitely fit the definition of extraordinary.

* * *

Author's Note:

Title of story based on the song "Red Like Roses Part 2" by Jeff Williams. I highly recommend giving it a listen.

Feedback is appreciative.


	2. Chapter 1

Two days had passed since the Chitauri invasion and Steve Rogers found himself fighting a much different battle. Instead of fighting the hordes of aliens Steve was instead combating against the mountains of debris that covered the streets of Manhattan.

It had been a challenge joining in the cleanup effort, mainly because he was supposed to be lying low so his identity wouldn't accidentally be revealed to the public. However, as much as Steve would have loved a vacation he couldn't sit in his apartment doing nothing while he could be out cleaning up the mess he was partially responsible for.

He told Director Nick Fury as much when he had asked for permission to go out and help. Understandably Director Fury was not pleased with Steve. Fury reminded Steve that his mask had fallen off during the fight and that people had seen him in his Captain America costume; all it would take is one person to recognize him before the media started to hound him for information. The last thing any of them needed was for Steve to become the top story on every major news network. Steve tried to point out that people had also seen the faces of Agents Barton and Romanoff, though Fury countered with the facts: 1) Barton and Romanoff were actually doing as they were told and staying out of the public eye for the foreseeable future and 2) two nameless people fighting against aliens is not the same headline as the hero from World War II returning from the dead to save all of humanity.

And while Steve could see Fury's point he nevertheless did not agree with Fury's approach.

"You're just going to do it even if I tell you no, aren't you," Fury stated in a stern tone, his one good eye glaring at Steve.

"Yes sir," Steve replied back candidly. He didn't see a reason to lie; they both knew how this conversation would end.

Fury gave a sigh of defeat, looking away from Steve in order to roll his eye before giving Steve his most severe expression.

"You want to clean up? Fine, clean up; but first a couple of rules. You are not allowed to talk to anyone. You are just a nameless individual who is there to help out. You are not there to socialize. There will be SHIELD agents at the site – you will follow every command they give you. If they tell you to leave, you leave without question. Do I make myself clear?"

He had.

And so a little over an hour after the conversation Steve found himself in the same spot he had been fighting in just three days prior, cleaning up.

It was rather cathartic, picking up broken cement and chunks of buildings and depositing them in the giant bins that housed the rest of the debris. He and the other civilians helping with the effort were only responsible for actual city damage – anytime one of them stumbled upon anything alien they had to report it to a SHIELD agent immediately. The agents were easy to spot considering they were either wearing a hazmat suit or a just a plain suit and tie. The agents in hazmat suits dealt with the aliens, the ones in suits and ties were the ones in charge. Every time Steve saw an agent in a suit and tie he was reminded of Agent Phil Coulson, and guilt would hit him like a bullet to the chest.

He tried to avoid those agents at all cost.

He had been alone for the majority afternoon resigning himself to the rules Director Fury had set for him. It was odd working alone. Everyone else was working in groups, whether they were firemen, police officers, good Samaritans, or agents. Working alone was disconcerting.

He approached a gigantic block of solid cement, a piece from the street he was currently standing on. It should take at least three people to carry the wreckage. He approached the rubble with the intent to carry it by himself – after all, he was a super solider and he had carried much heavier things in his life.

He bent down to pick it up expecting some resistance from the weight, so he was surprised when he launched the concrete up into the air as though it was hollow and made from Styrofoam. He quickly caught it and looked around to see if anyone saw what happened. No one had, everyone was too busy with their own jobs. He turned his attention back to the impossible bit of cement.

It didn't feel like it was Styrofoam, and when he knocked on it he found that it was solid, not hollow. He stood there looking down at the object in his hands wondering if it qualified as alien. It was certainly weird but he wasn't sure if this was something of Chitauri origin or just a new type of building material that was invented during his years in ice.

"I was actually going to get that one."

Steve spun around to face the owner of the voice, clutching the chunk of concrete to his chest. A young woman stood before him who couldn't have been older than 20 years old. She was from Britain judging by her accent. She had black hair that she wore in a bun, or tried to since there were strands of hair that had fallen out of the bun that were standing up as though gravity didn't exist. She had the greenest eyes Steve had ever seen that were masked behind a pair of old black framed glasses. She wore a black knee-length overcoat over baggy jeans and a red t-shirt; her shoes were falling apart. And on her forehead was the weirdest looking scar Steve had ever seen.

She looked at him, her eyebrows raised like a parent waiting for their child to admit to wrong-doing. Steve faltered under the gaze, not knowing what he should do. On the one hand she had wanted to take care of the debris, and Steve had no objection to her doing so especially since it wouldn't require three people to carry it like he originally expected. On the other hand he was already carrying the thing and it wouldn't be polite if he just handed it over to her – it just wasn't chivalrous to do so. Then again she would probably think it rude that he didn't give her the piece after she stated her intent to take care of it.

But then again he also wasn't supposed to interact with anyone who wasn't a SHIELD agent.

"Oh, uh," he stammered out, trying to get his bearings in order. He felt the back of his neck heat up and he had the urge to put his hand on the spot; however he refrained from doing so, keeping his hands where they were.

The girl smiled at him sardonically.

"That's fine," she said, "I'll just bring this instead."

She picked up another piece of concrete that was down by her feet, and while the piece wasn't as large as the one Steve was carrying, it was still big enough to require two people to lift it.

Steve watched as she was able to lift it up as though it was a bag of cotton candy and began to walk towards the bin. She was a few steps away when she turned back around to look at him.

"Are you coming or are you just going to stand there?" she asked.

Steve nodded once and began to walk towards the woman. They walked side-by-side, the garbage bins for the area a couple yards away. Steve looked around at the other groups of workers to see if they were having any difficulty lifting the wreckage – they were. He looked back down at the concrete he and the woman carried with his mind deep in thought.

"I think these are alien in origin," Steve told her as he inspected the bulky wreckage once more, "they are way too light to be human."

The woman looked over at him, before looking down at her own piece of debris and inspecting it like Steve was doing to his own. She let out a hum of contemplation.

"I'm not sure these are alien. The material doesn't look like the metal they were wearing or look anything like the material they used for whatever the flying things were," she said, her right hand waving in the air as though she was gesturing to where the flying things had been. Her movement had caused the sleeve on her overcoat to fall down her arm just a bit, allowing Steve to see that she was wearing a light-colored wooden bracelet on her wrist.

"Besides," she continued, her right hand grasping her object once more, "we're obviously carrying concrete." She looked at him waiting for him to agree with her.

Steve was still in doubt about it being concrete, but he felt like he had already talked to her more than he should. Besides, Steve knew that he could always just tell a SHIELD agent later on about the mysteriously light-weight concrete.

He nodded in agreement.

"Right, we're carrying concrete," he said as they finally reached the bins. He tossed his in without further question, the woman doing the same. Steve looked at her, giving her a tight smile. He was surprised that instead of smiling back the woman looked guilty, like a dog that had their tail between their legs.

He gave a nod in her direction before getting back to working. He didn't understand why she would feel guilty.

After all, it was just concrete.

* * *

The next day found Steve in the same spot, rubble still coating the streets as though the previous day had never happened. It hadn't occurred to him as he fought against the Chitauri just how much damage resulted from the fight – granted he had been a bit preoccupied at the time.

He had arrived at the site earlier than the previous day, deciding to devote as much time to cleaning up as he possibly could. Fury still wanted him to lie low until Steve started full time at SHIELD, and while Fury's definition of lying low did not include being part of the cleanup crew, the previous day had shown that Steve was capable of not being noticed while in a public setting.

So Fury granted Steve permission to continue his crusade of cleaning up the ruins of New York City as long as he kept to himself. It was an easy request to fulfill; Steve still wasn't used to the future yet and interacting with normal civilians would only illuminate how out of time he was.

Steve had to admit, he had had difficulties keeping up with the rest of the Avengers during the few times when they had talked together; the only one who had been remotely on his level had been Thor, and though Thor also didn't understand any of the cultural references the others where spewing he did know more about what had been occurring than Steve had.

Luckily neither fighting ability nor people's motivations had changed much since the '40s. And Steve did start to feel comfortable around SHIELD and the other Avengers once he had gotten past the cultural references and technological terminology.

But still, he wasn't sure how much he would have in common with actual civilians. He knew that basic human nature was still the same – people were still good at heart while there were a few who would end up doing bad things – but he also could tell that communication among friends and acquaintances had gone through a change in the past 70 years.

He only felt comfortable interacting with others when they needed help with heavy lifting. He found that if there was already a large group struggling with a heavy bit of the wreckage then he could go over and help them without needing to actually interact with them. Those tended to be quick interactions, barely anything was said to him, and he was gone as soon as the job was done off to his own little secluded spot to continue his work.

After helping a group of local fireman with a particularly heavy bit of fallen building support, he walked back over to his area only to be met with the woman from the day before, who was sweeping up some of the smaller debris with a contractors broom.

She looked up as he approached and she gave a nod in greeting before turning back to her work. Steve saw that she was adept with the broom as she added to her growing pile of glass, dirt, and concrete. Steve noticed as he looked at her that she was wearing the exact same outfit he had seen her in the previous day, her hair still up in a messy bun.

She must have known he was still staring at her because she looked back up at him.

"What?" she asked him, part annoyed and part confused. Steve looked her in the face, realizing too late that his eyes were focused on a place they shouldn't have been.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized sincerely, keeping his eyes trained on her face. She cocked her eyebrows up in disbelief and he could see her tighten the grip of her hands on the broomstick. He felt his face and neck heat up and this time he could not resist the urge to grab the back of his neck.

"Are you wearing the same outfit as yesterday?" Steve asked, trying to change the subject. The woman looked down at her attire, shrugged her shoulders, and then looked back up at him.

"Yeah, this is the outfit I normally wear when I'm cleaning up after a giant battle," she said nonchalantly, as if such an activity was a regular occurrence. She turned back to her sweeping after looking at him as though he was the weird one.

Steve shook his head like it would get rid of how awkward he felt and went back to work.

It was actually nice working within the vicinity of someone else. The woman kept to herself as much as Steve did and she was always willing to lend a hand with the heavy lifting even if Steve didn't actually need it. Of course he was just as willing to help her out, and more often than not he was the one helping her carry the heavier debris to the bins.

Steve realized early on in their silent partnership that there was a bit of a learning curve when trying to figure out when she needed help versus when she wanted help. At first when Steve would help her she would look at him with an annoyed expression on her face that would cause Steve to question why he wanted to help her in the first place. However, after she had accidentally dropped what had been a piece of the corner of a building onto her foot, Steve learned to ignore her silent objection and help her with the lifting. Not that she objected much to his help after the mishap.

They worked together for an hour, stopping when lunch time rolled around. Pizzas had been donated to the volunteers from the local pizza shops, and once they had arrived everyone rushed to be the first to get a slice. Steve and the woman continued to work until the lines thinned, whereupon they got pizza and water for themselves before sitting down on the curb in their work area to eat.

Steve let out a sigh of relief as he sat on the curb, setting his water down by his feet and keeping a tight grip on his plate of vegetarian pizza (the only pizza left after the crowd had thinned). The woman sat down next to him, placing the water right next to her while putting her plate on her lap.

Steve glanced around the street and smiled at the progress everyone had made in the cleanup. By the end of the day the group of volunteers will be done with the area and would be able to move onto another section of the city that needed help.

He watched other groups of volunteers as they ate; he saw how animated some were getting as they talked, how others were laughing, how many looked tired as they ate but satisfied at the same time. He smiled realizing that he still had reasons to fight and to do good in the world despite his displacement in time.

The two ate quickly, both wanting to get back to work as soon as possible. They had a particularly large heap of debris that had fallen from the building behind them that they had to clean up before the end of the day.

They went back to work the minute they were finished eating, the grease from the pizza still on their lips and finger tips, the taste of cheese and tomato sauce still on their tongues. The two fell back into the grove they had had before they broke for lunch – Steve taking care of the heavier lifting while the woman swept away the smaller bits of debris.

Steve realized by mid-afternoon that he had met the woman a little more than 24 hours ago and he still didn't know her name. He thought about rectifying it until he realized that would mean introducing himself which was strictly against Fury's wishes. Not to mention the woman herself seemed lost in thought and looked as though she didn't want to be disturbed by inane chatter.

So he kept silent.

It was approaching 4 o'clock when it happened. The two had cleared the mountain of debris down to a small pile of junk, at the center of which were several Chitauri corpses.

"I was wondering when I was going to see this lot," the woman said nodding towards the corpses. They looked just like Steve remembered them, with their golden helmets and their grayish armor and weird looking faces, except instead of looking threatening they just looked broken.

Steve waved over the SHIELD agents in the hazmat suits and gestured to the bodies on the ground. Three agents hurried over, two in hazmat suits, one in a regular suit and tie. The woman and Steve watched as the three assessed the situation before the two in the hazmat suits left to get their supplies. The one is a suit and tie, a tall man in his forties with thick shoulders and short brown hair, turned to address Steve and the woman.

"My name is Agent Geoffrey Travers, I'll just need to get your name and fingerprints before you can get back to work," the agent said, his voice commanding. Agent Travers pulled out a computerized tablet and started to type something into it.

The nice thing about being around SHIELD and Tony Stark is that Steve received a crash course in the technology of the modern era – the tablets were one of the first things he himself learned how to use.

Agent Travers looked at Steve and then back down at the tablet where he started to type once more. Steve had no doubt in his mind that Agent Travers was making a note that Steve was at the discovery site.

"Why do you need our name and fingerprints?" the woman asked in a suspicious tone. Agent Travers turned his full gaze onto her, only to see her face masked with suspicion.

"Standard procedure; it helps us keep track of those who have encountered alien tech and it helps us protect you against any potential harm exposure to aliens may cause," Agent Travers responded, his voice and face portraying a man who has had to make the same speech at least a dozen times within the past hour alone.

"Right," the woman said, drawing out the word to exaggerate her disbelief. "And who will be the ones keeping tabs on us?" she asked pointing to Steve and then herself.

Steve noticed that both Agent Travers and the woman drew themselves up to their full height with their shoulders back and their legs apart; and, while Agent Travers was certainly taller than the woman by at least half a foot, Steve had to give the woman credit for the fact that she was not backing down – if anything she was the one who actually looked more intimidating with her eyes bright and narrowed looking straight into Agent Travers's own.

"SHIELD will be keeping the database of all volunteers who have encountered alien remnants," Travers stated, placing his arms down at his side, the tablet gripped in his right hand.

Steve felt himself subconsciously mirror Agent Travers's posture, falling into a soldier's stance.

"And what's Shield?" the woman asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"SHIELD stands for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," Travers rattled off, getting annoyed by the woman's constant questioning.

Steve watched as surprise washed over her face before it descended into controlled rage.

"And what does a spy agency want with that kind of a database? Actually, better question, what is a spy agency doing with a bunch of alien remains?" she asked, tone scathing, as she pointed to the two agents in hazmat suits dealing with the Chitauri corpses. They looked up for a second, hearing her question, before returning to their work.

Agent Travers, on the other hand, looked as though he was about to knock the woman out and place her into custody. Steve felt he better step in soon before that could happen.

"Spy agency?" Steve asked, his tone conveying his question of how she even came up with such an idea. He watched as she rolled her eyes at his question before she turned her attention onto him.

"This isn't the first time I've encountered an organization that uses stupid acronyms to hide its true intent. Seriously though, 'Strategic Homeland Intervention?' 'Enforcement and Logistics Division?' What part of those two phrases doesn't scream spy agency to you?" she explained, looking Steve in the face, her expression displaying her incredulity.

Steve, trying to contain a smile, looked over at Agent Travers who looked livid. Steve realized immediately that his plan had failed and he quickly readied himself for the off chance that Travers would tackle the woman to the ground.

Instead, Travers brought the tablet back up to chest level and started to type into it once more. The woman and Steve watched as he slowly contained his anger as his fingers punched the tablet with audible taps.

"Your name," Agent Travers barked at Steve, his eyes glaring.

"Steve Rogers," Steve replied still wanting to diffuse the situation before it hit critical. Agent Travers held out the tablet parallel to the ground and pushed it toward Steve's chest.

"Please place your hands on the screen so we can copy your fingerprints," Travers bit out. Steve complied and he watched as a light scanned his hands, copying his fingerprints.

Even after his crash course in technology it still amazed Steve that humanity had progressed this far. It made Howard Stark's invention seem like child's play.

"Name" Travers snapped at the woman, turning his full attention onto her. Steve was expecting her to refuse, so he was surprised when she complied.

"Harry Peverell," she stated in a bored tone.

Steve and Agent Travers looked at her with their eyebrows raised in question. Harry rolled her eyes.

"It's short for Harriet," she explained, "but I prefer to be called Harry."

Travers made a note on the tablet before holding it out for her as he did for Steve.

"Fingerprints" was all he said to her.

Harry went to put her hands on the tablet but before she could she had a violent coughing attack, her hands quickly covering her mouth as her body convulsed with the force of each cough. Travers pulled the tablet back towards his chest, as though it would prevent the tablet from succumbing to the same fate.

Steve placed a hand on the middle of Harry's back, patting lightly in an effort to help her stop coughing. She slowly got her coughing under control and flicked her hand around in a gesture for Steve to stop, at which point he stepped back to give her space to breathe.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, watching as Harry got her breathing under control.

"I'm fine," she said, though she didn't sound it. "Must be all the dust," she explained waving her hand around in the air before bending over and placing her hands on her knees.

"Maybe you should stop for the day," Steve suggested, at which point Harry nodded in agreement.

Steve looked over at Agent Travers, waiting for him to announce his disagreement over the suggestion but instead was met with a very confused looking agent who was staring helplessly at the tablet.

"You did that already," Harry said, her voice still raw from all the coughing.

"Excuse me?" Travers asked, looking at Harry as a confused child would look to his parent for answers.

"You scanned my fingerprints earlier today, don't you remember?" Harry asked, looking at Agent Travers expectantly.

"Yes, you're right," Agent Travers conceded, much to Steve's surprise, "I did document your…sorry Miss Peverell, I'll let you leave now. Get better soon."

And with that Agent Travers left Harry and Steve, walking away with the biggest look of confusion on his face Steve had ever seen.

"Well, that was weird," Harry stated plainly, looking over at the now vacant area that used to house alien corpses.

"Yeah, that was really weird," Steve agreed, looking intently at Harry. This was the second weird experience Steve had encountered while in Harry's presence and he really hoped it wouldn't become a recurring motif to their partnership – otherwise he might have to report the incidents to Director Fury.

"Must be all the stress," Harry said, watching Steve for his reaction, "after all, can't be easy being in charge of the cleanup."

"Yeah, must be stress," Steve agreed once again, though his tone conveyed his distrust.

And for the second time in less than 36 hours Steve saw a look of utmost guilt come across Harry's face.

Steve knew something happened to Agent Travers but he highly doubted that it was stress.

* * *

"So what made you want to help with the cleanup?"

Steve and Harry sat outside Grand Central Station the next day, eating their lunch. SHIELD had finally removed the last of the Leviathan out of Grand Central making it clear for the cleanup crews to come in. Steve and Harry paired up once again earlier that day, helping the other groups sweep up the station.

Steve looked at Harry waiting for her to answer his question. She chewed thoughtfully as she looked out on the rest of the street.

"I was in the neighborhood, felt like you lot needed my help," she explained, shrugging her left shoulder.

"What about you?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Brooklyn born and raised. This attack hit pretty close to home," Steve answered, and while it wasn't the main reason why he was helping out it was still the truth. Harry nodded her head in understanding.

"So where's home for you?" Steve asked, taking another bite out of his cheeseburger. Harry's face fell into grief, her hand resting an inch above her fries.

"London," she said her lips quirking up in a self-deprecating manner. "England, that is. I know you Yanks like to name your cities after ours, what with London, Texas and Surrey, North Dakota – I can keep going if you want."

Steve smiled in amusement while Harry went back to eating her fries.

"How do you even know that?" Steve asked after a minute. Harry turned to him with a mouth full of fries, her question displayed on her face.

"The city names," Steve elaborated, "how did you know about that?"

"I was bored and on the internet. Wikipedia is a fantastic site. Hermione would love it," Harry said, her voice dropping low at the end as though she didn't mean to say it at all.

"So what are you doing in New York?" Steve asked as he crumpled up his empty cheeseburger wrapper.

Her face contorted at his question as though she was in physical pain before she shrugged her shoulders like she tried to convince herself that she didn't care.

"I was on a job that required me to travel to New York. When I was done with the job I was hit by a car, was holed up in a hospital during the alien attack, and now I'm here helping you lot clean it up," was her honest answer, though Steve could tell it wasn't the entire story. After all, according to Harry she was hit by a car no less than five days ago and yet she seemed to be in perfect health, if just a bit underweight.

Steve's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"You were hit by a car," he said, saying it as though he was a teacher whose student had just claimed her dog had eaten her homework.

"It wasn't going that fast," she explained, waving off his inquiry as though it was nothing. "It was just a gentle tap. Stepped off the curb without looking and got hit by a guy who was trying to turn the corner. Nothing too serious, but that didn't stop the guy from calling an ambulance to take me to the hospital."

Harry wouldn't look at Steve as she talked; instead she focused intently on the bag that had once contained her fries. That was probably the biggest lie Harry had told Steve so far.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, going along with the lie anyway.

"I'm fine," Harry replied, looking Steve in the face.

Never mind. That was the biggest lie Steve had heard from Harry. She was about as fine as Steve was.

Steve had learned a lot about Harry that day. He learned that she was twenty years old and was expecting to turn twenty-one by the end of July. She was an orphan and an only child. She had attended a boarding school in Scotland and she had gotten a job at a detective agency right out of school; however after working there for a little over two years she was put on indefinite suspension due to arguing with and disobeying her superiors.

"They didn't respect me, and I certainly didn't respect them; so of course there were going to be arguments. Besides, they were a bunch of bloody wankers to be perfectly honest," she had explained when Steve had asked her about her suspension.

And, in turn, she had learned a bit about Steve. He told her that he was going to be 27 on July 4th, that he was also an orphan and an only child. He confessed that he enjoyed drawing and that as a child he suffered from asthma. He also told her how he enrolled in the army in his early twenties where he rose quickly through the ranks and became a captain; however he was discharged from the army after he sustained an injury that put him into a coma for a month, waking up just weeks before the Chitauri attack occurred.

Steve knew that he was supposed to be lying low; however, he found it was easy to talk to Harry, primarily because he knew they were both hiding personal information from the each other. She obviously knew it too but thankfully she never called him out on it.

Their knowledge of each other was turning out to be a case of mutually assured destruction – if one of them called the other out on a lie their conversation would then descend into a whirlpool of accusations and demands for the truth, a situation Steve was trying to avoid.

Luckily for Steve, Harry was also the type of person who wanted to avoid all of her skeletons coming out of the closet.

So Steve and Harry spent the rest of the day cleaning up and actively lying to each other.

Sometimes they told outright lies.

("Are you okay?" "I'm fine. You?" "Yeah, I'm okay.")

Sometimes they told partial-truths.

("My mom died in childbirth and my dad was killed by a madman 15 months later." – "My father died while he was on tour with the military before I was born, while my mother died of an incurable disease when I was just a kid.")

And sometimes they just told the truth.

("What's treacle tart?" "It's delicious is what it is." "I've always loved apple pie." "Merlin you're a walking stereotype.")

By the end of the day Steve really didn't care whether or not everything said between him and Harry was a truth or a lie; all he cared about was the fact that talking with Harry made the day go by a lot faster than the previous days.

Time always passes when one is having fun.

* * *

Author's Note:

Wow, I was not expecting such a response to my story. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and followed/favorited my story - it means a lot to me.

Just a bit of business: I go back to school on January 21, so I expect the updates will slow down once the semester picks up. The good news is that I already have chapters 2 and 3 written, so I plan on updating those soon.

Thanks again for the love.


	3. Chapter 2

The next day Steve and the rest of the volunteers were greeted to their cleanup site by a gaggle of reporters. News vans and camera crews were lined up around the site – a stretch of road that used to house thousands of cars and Chitauri bodies a few days ago was now the home of left over debris in need of being cleared.

Steve watched from a distance as reporters interviewed firefighters and other volunteer workers for the morning news. Steve observed there was a much bigger crowd of onlookers than the previous days and for the first time since helping with the cleanup Steve really wished he was better disguised.

Agent Travers walked through the crowd of people, parting the crowd like it was the Red Sea as he made his way over towards Steve. The agent looked tired and annoyed, his lips pressed in a thin line, his eyes narrowed.

"Rogers," Travers said in way of greeting, and Steve stood to attention.

"Agent Travers," Steve responded, nodding his head towards the agent.

"You really shouldn't be here," Agent Travers told Steve as his eyes glanced over the crowd and reporters, looking for suspicious activity.

"I figured as much," Steve said, lowering his head when he noticed a group of young teenage girls were staring at him only to then giggle with each other.

"Here," Agent Travers said, holding out a beanie hat, sunglasses, and a baggy jacket for Steve to take. Steve looked at the items in confusion.

"What?" he asked as he grabbed the clothing.

"We're down a couple of volunteers due to the blasted interviews and reporters. Until we clear out the damn paparazzi you wear this and keep out of site. You can still help out, but if anyone asks for information you keep well away, understood?" Travers asked, looking at Steve with an expression that promised Hell if he disobeyed at all.

"Yes sir," Steve replied, slipping on the jacket before putting on the beanie and sunglasses.

"This is not protocol," Agent Travers told Steve, not looking him in the eye, "but I highly doubt you care. Follow me."

And with that Travers started to walk around the crowd towards the area of the site that held no reporters or cameras at all. Steve quickly went to follow, feeling weird in his new outfit but not as exposed as he felt when he was without it.

No one paid any attention to Steve or Travers as they walked, and Steve felt relieved when he saw Harry working in the area he was assigned. She looked annoyed as she swept trash in the street into a pile away from the gutter.

Before Steve could go off and join her, Travers placed a strong hand on his chest.

"Do you remember what I told you?" Travers asked looking at Steve with all the severity he could muster.

"Yes sir," Steve repeated, nodding his head.

"Good. Just remember: if you break my orders I'll break your skull – I don't care how super you are," Travers whispered the last part as he walked away, but his threat was still clear and Steve had no doubt about Travers's skill in regard to bone breaking.

Travers was a SHIELD Agent after all; breaking bones seemed to be part of their MO.

He quickly grabbed a trash can and made his way over to Harry, who looked up as he approached. Her eyes squinted before her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Nice outfit," Harry told him as he reached her, placing the trash can down in between them. "I really like the beanie and jacket combination," she continued, "makes you look homeless."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"Thanks. I see you're set on wearing the same thing for the whole week," he said in way of retaliation.

"Oi! I told you this is the outfit I wear when I'm cleaning up city-wide messes. Not my fault you didn't believe me. Besides, I've been cleaning it," Harry said indignantly.

She was right on that point, her outfit looked cleaner today than it did the previous night – it was no longer caked with sweat, dirt, dust, and asbestos.

Steve smiled at Harry's indignation before getting to work.

The pair had been working for what had to be about twenty minutes before their area was intruded by a reporter. Steve immediately became hyper-aware of the reporter as she entered the area, her cameraman not far behind her. Steve pushed his sunglasses up his nose so his eyes were fully covered; he pulled down his beanie further and bunched his shoulders up so his jacket could cover his neck and part of his face.

If Harry found his behavior odd she didn't show it.

The reporter went around to each group in the area, pausing to talk to different volunteers before moving onto the next group. She was obviously interviewing the different groups, whose members looked happy as they talked into the camera.

All Steve wanted was for her to stay far away from him.

His hope was killed five minutes later.

"Hi there, my name is Evelyn Williams and I am a reporter for Good Day New York. I was wondering if you two were interested in a quick interview for our afternoon segment. It's called 'Heroes of New York.' What are your names?"

The reporter talked fast and in a tone that oozed fake cheerfulness. Steve kept his face down towards the ground, though he knew from his previous observances that Ms. Williams was a comely woman who had brown hair and wore make-up. He felt rather than saw the camera pointed in his and Harry's direction, the cameraman holding it up effortlessly.

"Um, no," Harry said. She drew out her words, emphasizing her discomfort.

"Excuse me?" the reporter asked. Her tone was surprised, and Steve wondered if they were the first group to decline the interview.

"We're working," Harry explained plainly, "we don't have time for your bloody interview."

"Maybe later? We were really hoping all the volunteers could – "

"Continue what they're doing without being interrupted constantly by reporters? Yes, I was hoping for that too," Harry interrupted Ms. Williams with a practiced ease, and Steve had to refrain from smiling at Harry's rudeness.

"It's a really quick interview. We just want to know your name, age, occupation, and something fun about yourself – like a hobby of some sort. We just want to do something to get the public excited about all the effort you and your boyfriend have been putting into the cleanup; and we wanted to give each volunteer the hero treatment – you are all heroes after all," the reporter explained, her tone still one of false friendliness. Steve could tell she was getting annoyed; he could also tell that Harry was far past annoyed.

"Uh, 1) We're not dating. 2) We're not heroes. 3) You know what would get people excited about our efforts with the cleanup? That would be if we cleaned up. So please, let us continue doing our job. Now bugger off."

And with that Harry went back to sweeping, and Steve watched as she purposefully swept dirt onto Ms. William's and the cameraman's shoes.

"Excuse – "Ms. Williams said, her voice finally expressing something that wasn't fake before Harry cut her off again.

"Oh, sorry, I forgot you Yanks don't know what 'Bugger off' means. I'll put it into your vernacular so you understand what I'm trying to tell you. Ma'am, sir, please, fuck off."

Steve's eyes widened in surprise and he couldn't help the quirk his lips gave at Harry's declaration. He looked up in time to see the reporter's face turn red with humiliation and then anger; the cameraman held the camera so it was pointing down to the ground, his face a cross between amusement and embarrassment.

Ms. Williams looked like she wanted to say something else, but one look at Harry had her holding her tongue. Steve didn't blame her; he looked at Harry to find her standing like she had been when they had met Agent Travers.

Harry stood like she was the one in charge.

The reporter and the cameraman left quickly after that, moving onto the next group after the reporter gained her composure. Steve and Harry watched them leave and as soon as they were gone Steve rounded onto Harry.

"That wasn't exactly polite," he told her, his voice expressing his disappointment in her behavior. Harry looked at Steve as though he was insane.

"Are you kidding me? I acted exactly as one should act when people are being arseholes," she said defensively, getting back to her sweeping.

"They're just trying to do their jobs," Steve countered back. While he wasn't sad to see the reporter leave, he did think there was a better way Harry could have handled the entire situation.

"They're doing their jobs poorly. She didn't even give us time to agree to the bloody thing before she was asking us our names."

Steve conceded that Harry had a point.

"But you were still a bit harsh on them – especially the reporter."

Harry looked at Steve incredulously.

"I said please!" Harry exclaimed defensively.

"Right, because 'Please, fuck off,' is the epitome of politeness," Steve said looking at Harry sternly.

Harry looked at Steve with a blank face before she erupted into a fit of laughter.

"What?" Steve asked not understanding why Harry was laughing hysterically.

"You cursed," Harry gasped out between laughs, causing Steve to roll his eyes.

"Yes, I curse. It has been known to happen. I can do many things. Cursing is one of them. Are you done yet?" Steve watched as Harry fell into another bout of laughter, and he gave a sigh of defeat.

Steve shook his head in disbelief and got back to work. He was starting to question why he even decided to talk to Harry in the first place, but the smile on his face reminded him of the reasons.

* * *

The reporters were there to stay.

Harry was not pleased.

Neither was Steve.

But while Steve could ignore the reporters and focus on keeping up his disguise, Harry was actively cursing every reporter under her breath.

"Bloody fucking reporters," Harry bit out for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Barely twelve yards away was another reporter interviewing a group of volunteers who were animatedly talking to the camera.

Steve tried to pull his beanie further down his head, a nervous tick he was developing the longer he was near the media.

News networks were clamoring for public interest stories – or that was what Harry told him when he wondered aloud why there were hordes of reporters all of a sudden. Almost a week had passed since the attack and the media was turning on the Avengers, choosing to cover stories of politicians demanding the Avengers cover the cost of the city damage while simultaneously blaming everything that had happened on the six heroes.

It was depressing for Steve to watch the slow progression of the Avengers being hailed as heroes to being condemned as villains by the people he and the others had be trying to protect.

At least kids still liked the Avengers.

"They're only here because all their other leads have failed," Harry told him bitterly as they carried an empty window frame past several reporters in order to reach the bins.

"What do you mean by that?" Steve asked, feeling the sweat soak into his beanie. Harry looked at him with a thoughtful look before giving an irritated sigh.

"It's almost been a week and it's pretty easy to see that journalists and the news networks know even less about what had happened during the attack now than they had a week ago. Now, there are six questions any good journalist should ask when reporting on a story: who, what, where, when, why, and how. They know the 'What,' 'When,' and 'Where,' considering they were broadcasting live on location while the attack was taking place. They know 'Who' was involved – or at least they have names. They know Tony Stark was involved because everyone knows he's Iron Man, but the rest of the lot – the Hulk, Thor, Loki, Captain America, the other two – they're virtually unknowns. Well, I mean, people only know about Thor and Loki because of Norse mythology; Captain America was a World War II hero who died in the 40s; the Hulk destroyed Harlem a year ago so some people know about him; and Hawkeye and Black Widow? Seriously what kind of a name is Hawkeye?"

Harry looked at Steve, her face showing her disbelief that such a name existed. Steve shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know," he said honestly; he never gave Agent Barton's codename much thought but he had to admit it was an odd name.

Harry let out a sigh as they threw the frame into the bin and wiped her hands together to get rid of the grime from the frame. Steve and Harry started to walk back to their area, once again passing the reporters before Harry continued her rant.

"The point is, the media only knows names and they know that each person is a threat in their own way. I mean, I know the six of them saved the entire world but when you see a giant green guy and a god who throws lightning around like it's the easiest thing to do, people start to question the amount of power they actually have.

"That just leaves the 'Why' and the 'How,' which are, in my honest opinion, the two most important questions anyone should be asking about the attack. Why did Loki and the Chitauri attack Manhattan? How was any of it even possible? The two most important questions anyone could be asking about the event and the answers haven't been revealed. The media has absolutely no information that answers either question and so they are stuck with the choice of either playing the same information they've had for a week over and over again, or they can come up with a scapegoat story to keep the public interest."

Harry stopped walking and looked around at all the reporters and interviews occurring around her. She spread her arms out and gave Steve a sardonic smile.

"Well, here's the headlining story. Look at all the _heroes_ of New York that are cleaning up the mess that those _Avengers_ left behind. Look at how the average person was able to save a child from falling rubble or help an old lady get to safety while the Hulk tore down another great city landmark. No, the people who actually saved us all from aliens aren't the heroes, they're _freaks_; it's us _normal_ folks who are the heroes – isn't it fantastic that it's _us_ versus _them_?" Harry sneered at her own vitriol.

Steve watched Harry through her rant and became increasingly disheartened by it. Harry was obviously cynical about media in general but it was hard for Steve to relate to her. He came from a time when people trusted the news and the information it gave out. Steve was slowly beginning to realize that this didn't seem to be the case in the 21st century.

But what really irked Steve was her stance on heroes.

"So you don't think Dan Piper, Caroline Toft, and Peter Carlson are heroes?" Steve asked, his face set in defiance.

Dan Piper, a police officer who was shot down by a Chitauri soldier as he was evacuating people to safety. Caroline Toft, a mother who died from falling rubble after she pushed her children to safety. Peter Carlson, an office worker who was killed after he tackled a Chitauri soldier who held his coworkers hostage. The rolling news had been reporting on the three of them for the past day.

"I think they did the right thing, but I don't count them as heroes," Harry said as she walked past Steve and back to their area. Steve took off after her.

"So do you think the Avengers are the only heroes of New York then?" Steve asked and he was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. Harry shot him a disbelieving look.

"I don't count them as heroes either. The Avengers did the right thing. And that's all I care about: people either do the right thing, or they don't. I don't believe in heroes. It's why I'm angry at all these bloody reporters who are going on about how heroic we're all being for cleaning up the bloody city – we're not heroes, we're just doing the right thing."

"Isn't that the definition of a hero, though, someone who does the right thing?" Steve asked genuinely interested in her response. Harry looked at him as though he had caught her in a logical fallacy.

"It is. But I've always associated heroes with fiction – never ordinary people. To be perfectly honest I believe that heroes only exist in the minds of children," Harry explained, her voice dropping out at the end as though she didn't want to finish her thought.

"I still believe in heroes," Steve affirmed, watching Harry as she looked at him with pity. He felt irritated; he didn't see any reason why she would pity him.

Steve believed in heroes. He believed that anyone could be a hero, and that anyone who was brave, good, and did the right thing was a hero. For Steve, Dan Piper, Caroline Toft, and Peter Carlson were heroes, as were any other civilian who saved others during the Chitauri attack. Agent Phil Coulson was a hero, as were the other SHIELD agents who had fought against Loki and his minions while on the helicarrier. Agents Barton and Romanoff, Dr. Banner, and Thor were all heroes by Steve's standards, as was Tony Stark, who exceeded all of Steve's expectations when he was the one to make the sacrifice play that ended the fight.

Steve still believed in heroes because he had proof that heroes still existed.

"I keep forgetting that you're a walking stereotype," Harry finally said jokingly, "I guess I'll take my English-bred cynicism somewhere else."

Steve didn't feel that her attempt to dissolve the tension worked like she intended it to, however she walked back to their area before he could come up with a retort. He watched as she picked up her broom and continued where she had left off before they had to carry the frame away. He contemplated going back and joining her or if he should go to a different area to gather his thoughts. The decision was made for him, however, when Agent Travers appeared beside him.

"Rogers," Travers said in way of greeting. His eyes scanned the area for any eavesdroppers.

"Hello again Agent Travers," Steve replied. Travers turned to look at Steve, his face a mask of seriousness.

"We are unable to clear out the reporters at this time; therefore you are ordered to take your leave for the day so as to avoid any unwanted incidents," Agent Travers explained.

Steve nodded his head to show his understanding.

"You also are not to return to the areas in need of cleanup for the rest of the duration of the cleanup effort – by order of Director Fury," Agent Travers amended the last bit when he saw Steve begin to object.

Steve knew that the order was sound. If SHIELD was unable to clear the reporters out today than it was pretty clear that they would not be able to stop reporters from showing up in the following days. He still felt like he had work to do, however he knew that if his nervous ticks continued to persist as they had throughout the day then they would only get worse as the days past to the point where he would be of no use at all.

"I understand, sir," Steve said at last. He watched as Travers nodded his head, his face falling into a more sincere expression.

"You've done more than enough. Thank you. New York is indebted to you," Travers told Steve, his voice genuine. Steve smiled at Travers, not trusting himself to say anything. Travers gave Steve directions for a path out of the area that held the least reporters and ordered Steve to keep the jacket, glasses, and hat and to continue wearing them until he was back at his apartment.

It took Steve 10 minutes to get to the end of the area using the path Agent Travers gave him. He was almost reacquainted with the rest of the population when he felt a presence behind him. A large part of him hoped it was Harry, but that hope was slashed when the presence spoke.

"Excuse me Captain Rogers!" a female voice called out, and while the voice had a British accent it was definitely not Harry.

Steve's heart quickened, knowing instantly that the voice belonged to a reporter and that he was in serious trouble. He decided his best option was to play dumb, and he turned around to address the voice.

A woman in her late 30s greeted him. She had curly blonde hair and a thick jaw. She wore rhinestone covered glasses and her fingernails were painted red. She held a notepad and a pen and had a purse strapped around her shoulder.

"Pardon me, Ms?" Steve said, trying his hardest to feint ignorance.

"Oh listen to you, you even sound like you're from the 40s," the reporter said like she was talking to a cute puppy. She gave Steve a large smile that made his insides squirm.

"Rita Skeeter is the name – freelance journalism is my business; I've written for The Guardian, The Daily Mail, The Sun, and countless other newspapers from around the world. And I want to personally be the first one to get the scoop on the Star Spangled Man with a Plan," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake.

Steve took a step back, wondering if he could run away without causing a ruckus. She took a step forward, smirking at him.

"I'm not – "

"Steve Rogers?" Skeeter asked, cutting Steve off from his attempted lie. "Of course you are; don't worry though, I won't let anyone else know – it will be our little secret."

Skeeter gave Steve a wink and a flirtatious smile.

"I'm really not Steve Rogers," Steve said with conviction. He was able to keep a straight face when he said it, though he wasn't able to keep himself from leaning away from the journalist.

Skeeter snorted her disbelief.

"Please, if you're not Steve Rogers, not Captain America in all his spangle-y glory, then who are you?" Skeeter asked giving Steve a knowing smile.

"Vernon? There you are!" exclaimed a very familiar voice.

Steve looked away from Skeeter in time to see Harry walk up to them, her face practically screaming 'Just Go With It.' Steve looked back at Skeeter, who was openly glaring at Harry.

"Harry, hi," Steve said, turning his attention back to Harry.

"Do you have any bloody idea how long I've been looking for you Vernon?" Harry asked with her hands on her hips. Steve guessed it had been since he had left, but he didn't want to bring that up around a reporter. In all honesty Steve was just glad Harry had found him, though he was beginning to question her choice for his pseudonym.

"Sorry," he apologized instead. Harry looked at him like he was an idiot.

"Vernon?" Skeeter asked Harry, her disbelief clearly in her voice. She looked Steve up and down before turning her attention back onto Harry.

"Missy you are clearly mistaken, this is Captain America – Steve Rogers – not your _Vernon_," Skeeter said spitting out the name 'Vernon' towards Harry.

Harry looked at Skeeter before turning her attention onto Steve. She gave an irritated sigh.

"Damn it Vernon, how many times have we told you? It's not a good idea to get into character six hours before show time," she scolded Steve, her head facing the ground as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

She looked back at Skeeter, her face apologetic.

"I'm really sorry, Ma'am, did he introduce himself as Captain America? I knew we should have cast him as Hawkeye," Harry said holding out her hand towards Skeeter to shake.

"My name's Harry, and this," she said gesturing towards Steve, "is Vernon Dudley. He's studying acting at NYU and I and the rest of our friends made the mistake of casting him as Captain America for a competition. As you can see, he took it to heart."

To Skeeter's credit she did not look like she was buying Harry's lie and so refused to shake her hand. Harry took it in stride though; instead of shaking hands, she ran her hand through her hair.

"What's the competition?" Skeeter asked, staring at Steve as though waiting for him to answer. Harry answered for Steve; she didn't want him to derail her story and Steve was fine with sitting back and watching the lie unfold.

"There's a celebration going on at Central Park later tonight and there's a competition for best group costume of the Avengers. There are seven of us in our friend group so we're going as the Avengers plus Loki," Harry explained, smiling acerbically at Skeeter.

Steve smiled at Harry's lie – there was a celebration happening in Central Park and that contest was going to take place but he certainly wasn't going to show up.

"And who are you supposed to be," Skeeter asked Harry, her voice scathing.

Harry gave a sigh and rolled her eyes before looking at Skeeter with a self-deprecating smile.

"I got the short straw, so I'm going as Loki," she told Skeeter, who looked Harry up and down in disbelief.

"Are you now?" Skeeter asked skeptically.

Harry shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, I do look like the guy," Harry said in her defense, and Steve really didn't want to think about how right she was.

"But you aren't a man," Skeeter pointed out.

"Oi! I'll have you know in Norse mythology Loki was able to turn himself into a woman! So I'm obviously going as female Loki," Harry countered back.

Steve also didn't want to contemplate the possibility that Loki could turn into a woman at this present moment – or ever.

"Besides, you should see the rest of our group! I mean, Hermione refuses to go as the Hulk so she's dressing up like Dr. Banner instead; Luna is going as Thor; and Ron argued heavily to be Ironman and that was a tough decision because Stark isn't ginger – though apparently Ron is getting a wig, so," Harry said, dropping off at the end as though she had said too much.

Steve glanced over to Skeeter; she looked like she wanted to push Harry off a building.

"And who will be playing Hawkeye and Black Widow, _Vernon_?" she asked Steve, knowing that she could derail Harry's lie by keeping her out of the conversation.

Harry snorted.

"Ma'am, he's still in character. You're not going to get anything out of him," Harry explained to her as though she was a child.

"And if you must know, our friends Neville and Ginny will be playing those parts. Seriously you should come out and see us in the competition – I'm confident we'll be placed within the top five groups."

Skeeter spun around to stare at Harry, her anger displayed clearly on her face.

"You won't place at all because you're not going to compete! Don't act like you haven't been spewing out lies since you've arrived here either! There is no one named Vernon Dudley helping with the cleanup! Now leave or else I will have to report you to the police for harassment," Skeeter threatened.

Harry's eyebrows rose in disbelief. Steve was also surprised at Skeeter's gall of threatening harassment against Harry when that was all Skeeter had been doing to Steve throughout their conversation.

It was like the pot calling the kettle black.

"Excuse you," Harry snapped, "but you're the one who was harassing my friend!"

"I'm trying to interview Captain America! It's the interview the entire world has been waiting for and I will not allow some cretin to ruin this opportunity for me!"

"He's not Captain America!" Harry countered back, her tone serious.

Steve held back a wince at her conviction; he didn't want to see her reaction when she found out just how wrong her statement was.

"Yes he is!" Skeeter all but screamed, her face inches from Harry's.

"How do you know that he is? After all, Captain America is supposed to be dead, but Vernon here looks about as alive as you and me! I mean, did he introduce himself as Captain America to you?" Harry asked, standing her ground.

Steve chose that moment to speak up.

"No, I didn't," he said, watching the two women's reactions, "I actually didn't get to introduce myself at all."

"Really?" Harry asked, unimpressed at the revelation. "Then what made you think he was Captain America?" she asked Skeeter, her arms crossed.

Skeeter, to her credit, stood up straight and held her ground.

"I acquired information that the Captain himself was here helping out. Can't fault a girl from following a lead," Skeeter said smiling like a cat that caught the canary.

"No, I guess you can't," Harry said, staring unblinkingly at Skeeter. "But what made you think Vernon here was the Cap?"

"You mean besides the fact that he looks exactly like Captain America?" Skeeter asked, her sarcasm leaking through.

Steve felt Harry look at him before she turned her attention back on Skeeter.

"He looks more homeless than he does a super-soldier," Harry confessed.

Skeeter looked at Harry as though she was insane. Harry didn't let her rebuke her statement.

"And how did you acquire the information?" Harry asked intrigued, "I mean, all these reporters are here and they didn't think Vernon here was Captain America; how do you know definitively that he's who you say he is?"

"Because I have skill and contacts that would turn your little head if you knew their names," Skeeter said, pride creeping into her voice.

"Really? And who are they? Go on, turn my head," Harry challenged.

"If you must know, my contact on this occasion was more of a database than it was a person," Skeeter said, waving her hand in the air as though semantics didn't matter.

"So let me get this straight. You hacked into SHIELD'S database containing all the names of the volunteers and you found Steve's name on the list and so you thought it was a good idea to come to a place filled with SHIELD agents in order to get an interview with someone who doesn't want to talk to you – is that what you're saying?"

Harry looked at Skeeter with the most disgust Steve had ever seen from her.

"I wouldn't have put it in so many words, but yes that's what happened," Skeeter said, smirking at her own genius.

Steve couldn't believe the gall Skeeter had, or her inanity.

"I believe we've heard enough," Agent Travers declared from behind Steve.

Steve looked behind himself to see a group of SHIELD agents standing around Agent Travers, who did not look pleased to see Skeeter.

"Please detain Ms. Skeeter," Travers said, not taking his eyes off the woman. "And please make sure to search her thoroughly before we interview her. I don't want anything getting out."

Steve and Harry watched as Skeeter was arrested by SHIELD agents; Skeeter's face was a mixture of shock, indignant, and furious as they took her away.

Steve was not upset to see her go.

"We've wanted to arrest her for years," Agent Travers said, turning to look at Steve and Harry. He looked as though Christmas had come early.

"How come?" Steve asked curiously.

"She's been hacking into classified files in order to obtain information for her stories, though we've never have found any actual evidence for her transgressions – that is until now," Travers explained, looking at Steve with a stern expression before looking at Harry with what looked like respect in his eyes.

Today was turning out to be a weird day for Steve.

"Follow me," he told them, leading them towards a black car owned by SHIELD. He held open the door for Steve.

"You'll be driven home Mr. Rogers," Travers told him before turning his attention to Harry.

He pulled out a thick white envelope and held it out for Harry, waiting for her to grab it.

"We hope this will be enough to thank you for your assistance of apprehending Ms. Skeeter. We also hope that this will convince you to keep the secrets you know a secret," Travers told her and at the end he looked at Steve before turning his attention back to Harry.

Comprehension began to dawn on Steve.

"Are you bribing me?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"We are merely telling you not to share the information you know about Mr. Rogers to the public," Travers countered.

"Wait, you know?" Steve asked, finally speaking up after minutes of observation. Though now that he thought of it, of course she knows – how else would she have known to lie for him? He watched Harry run a hand through her hair before it rested on the back of her neck.

"Well, yeah," she told him, her hand falling from her neck to swing by her side.

"To be fair I only knew about it after I heard you say your name to Travers here. I know this might freak you out to hear but there's a whole section in the library about you. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together. To be honest you might want to come up with a pseudonym if you want to avoid another situation like this," Harry explained waving her hand in the air as though she was gesturing to what 'this' was. Travers was not amused.

"Will you be keeping quiet or not?" Travers asked, shaking the envelope in his hand towards Harry.

Steve watched as her face descended into turmoil; she bit her lip, her hands clenching and unclenching as she thought.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she reached out and took the envelope, tucking it into her coat pocket. Travers nodded his head and walked over to the driver's side window in order to talk to the driver.

Steve felt betrayed.

"I didn't realize you were one for bribery," Steve remarked angrily. Harry flinched at his tone.

"If it makes you feel better, I'm usually not," she sighed.

It did not make Steve feel better.

"What makes this time different?" he asked her. He wondered briefly if their time spent together was just a ploy for Harry to exploit SHIELD into giving her money.

Harry ran her hand through her hair again, causing more hair to come out of her already destroyed bun. She couldn't bring herself to look at Steve as she said:

"Because you're not the only one who's homeless."

Steve stared at Harry as his realization hit him at full force.

He felt like an idiot.

"Rogers," Travers called out, causing Steve to turn to look at him. Travers motioned for Steve to get in the car. Steve looked back at Harry, feeling uncomfortable around her all of a sudden.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you Steve," Harry said, smiling sadly at him.

"You as well Harry," Steve said, giving her a nod.

Harry reciprocated the nod before turning on her heel and walking away.

And once more, Steve was alone.


	4. Chapter 3

Harry's research was going nowhere.

She had been away from her universe for two weeks now and her search for a way home was leading to very theoretical answers.

She didn't want to know the theory behind parallel universes – after all, she was proof that they existed – she just wanted to know how to get back to her own without needing to travel through a worm-hole.

She was beginning to curse this universe for having chosen a more science-fiction type approach to its creation; after all, aliens and superheroes fell under the sci-fi genre more than dragons and wizards did. Harry was really starting to miss the fantasy of her world.

Harry was beyond homesick – she had to get back home.

She clicked on the next page button and waited for the webpage to load. Harry was in the computer section of the New York Public Library, searching the internet for answers. She had been doing so for a week now, her search phrases becoming less and less specific as her search went on. This time all she had searched for was "parallel universe magic," but as the twentieth page of results loaded onto her screen Harry began to wonder if her search had come to an end.

The results this far down didn't seem to pertain to anything regarding parallel universes or magic.

Harry decided, once again, to search a different phrase hoping to gain different results.

The past two weeks for Harry had been interesting to say the least.

The doctor had finally come to check up on her after the Chitauri attack and had apologized for not coming in sooner. He explained that Harry was in perfect health and that the man who had hit her had paid for her treatment. All he needed was for her to fill out the required paper work before she was allowed to leave.

That's when she found out she was in an alternate universe that was set ten years into the future from her own. Harry had to account for the ten years when she wrote out her birthday; she changed the year of her birth from 1980 to 1990 in order to avoid awkward conversations as to why she didn't look like she was thirty. And that wasn't the only thing she changed about herself.

For her name she wrote down Harriet Rose Peverell as opposed to Rose Harriet Potter. She didn't know whether or not she had an existing counterpart and she knew it would look suspect if there happened to be two Rose Potters in the world who just so happened to have the same parents and birthdays. She wanted to avoid looking suspicious at all cost – after all, this world was able to deal with an alien attack, Merlin knows what they would do if they found out about her.

She also didn't know whether her parent's counterparts existed in this world, so she made up fake names for them. Her mother was now Lily Molly Peverell née Granger, her father was James Arthur Peverell; both were deceased.

The amount of paperwork they wanted to have her fill out was staggering and half way through it she decided to just get up and leave. She changed back into her clothes, subtlety changing her black witches cloak into a black knee-length overcoat, and placed her mokeskin pouch around her neck and under her shirt.

Hagrid had given Harry the mokeskin pouch for her seventeenth birthday and she hadn't gone anywhere without it since. During the war she filled the pouch with essential potions – pain relievers, skelegrow, dreamless sleep, etc. She fell into a habit of always having those potions in stock in her pouch, along with her invisibility cloak and her yew stick.

Luckily all the items in her pouch were unharmed and present.

She turned in the paper work and subtly confounded the nurse on duty into filing it immediately without putting any of her information into a computer. Harry felt that this was for the best – they'd have her paperwork and she wouldn't end up in a hack-able database. Basically it was a win-win for everyone involved.

Harry had been in the elevator going down to the main floor when she finally noticed it. The elevator walls were reflective and Harry was able to look at herself for the first time since arriving in the alternate universe. Her face had been bruised yellow and on her forehead was a newly placed scar.

The scar was in the shape of eihwaz, the rune for defense. Harry was able to recognize the design immediately on account of the number of times she herself had written the exact same rune during the war. She realized she must have gotten the scar sometime between her arrival and the car accident.

She took an immediate liking to the scar; all she hoped was that it didn't turn out to be a horcrux like Neville's scar had been.

Her first task after leaving the hospital was to find any traces of a magical world. It had taken her the rest of the day to come to the conclusion that the magical world did not exist. She had visited the sites where the magical world had been in her universe to find them completely muggle.

Harry's findings weren't surprising to her, however they were disheartening. She was alone and homeless in a city she didn't know.

It was like she was seven years old all over again.

Except this time she at least knew what to do.

She was an adult with a full command of her magic; roughing it on the street for her stay in this universe was the least of her worries.

She had traveled to Central Park and walked around in order to find a secluded area to set up her base of operations. When she had found a spot she liked, a nice area surrounded closely by trees, she began to ward a small portion of the spot so the muggles wouldn't be able to stumble upon her as she slept. She then proceeded to try to transfigure some of the rocks and dead leaves on the ground into pillows and a mattress, though after half an hour of failed attempts she resigned herself to the fact that she would have to sleep on the ground.

She had never been very good at transfiguration.

Harry had laid down on the ground within her warded area and stared up at the night sky. She had pulled out her invisibility cloak and had used it as a blanket and as extra security against prying eyes.

Her second night in the alternate universe and Harry fell asleep wondering why she couldn't see the stars.

Harry had awoken the next day with hunger pains. She resigned herself to the fact that she would have to once again steal food in order to survive.

At seven years old Harry had been left in London by her Uncle Vernon. At seven years old Harry had to decide whether she should ignore her pride and beg on the streets for money or if she should break the law and steal food from the shops.

In the end her pride had won.

Besides, she felt that stealing food was nothing compared to the crime she had already committed; also it was a lot easier to still feel empathy for strangers when they weren't constantly ignoring her pleas for money.

Harry learned early on that store owners didn't notice when she stole fruits and vegetables as long as she only took one or two items at a time.

She remembered that lesson when at twenty she found herself once again looking for a market where she could steal food from. She knew that eating an apple or a banana would tie her over for a few hours, but Harry also knew that just surviving on an apple a day was not a good idea.

She remembered trying to do just that during her first month on the streets. She would eat whatever produce she could swipe from a random store and would only eat that for her daily meal. By the end of her first month she had become malnourished, her diet low on calories, and it had started to affect her physically and mentally.

The day Harry made her bracelets was the day all that changed.

Harry had been three months into her homeless life and she had stumbled upon the Leaky Cauldron, and just like that Harry learned about the existence of the wizarding world. That day she had walked around Diagon Alley in the rain, looking with wonder at the magic around her. By nightfall she was cold, wet, hungry, and tired wandering around the back streets of the Alley. Looking for shelter she had slipped into the first open window she saw, landing with a thump onto a hard wooden floor. Harry had been greeted to a cluttered office, the walls lined with what looked like millions of tiny boxes, and a table placed next to the window with sticks of wood and parchment upon it.

Harry had sat down at the desk and, driven to boredom, reached her hand out to grab a stick and started to fashion it into a bracelet. Once done she tied it around her right wrist. Feeling oddly unbalanced she had reached out to grab another stick and fashioned herself another bracelet, which she then tied to her left wrist. A warm light had engulfed her and when it had receded her bracelets had fused to her skin.

And Harry for the first time in her life knew what it felt like to finally be _home_.

After that her magic stopped being accidental. By using her bracelets Harry was able to control her magic – or as much control as an uneducated seven year old can have over a force of nature such as magic.

Thirteen years later she continued to use her bracelets to their full advantage. Harry had strolled into a supermarket after willing her magic to make her unnoticeable to everyone around her. She had exited the store a few minutes later with her an arm full of fruit and a prepackaged sandwich; no one had noticed the robbery.

She walked a few blocks away from the market she had stolen from and sat down at the first bench she had seen. She started to eat the food she had pillaged and she looked over to see a very destroyed building and the Chrysler Building.

Harry had realized with a start that she was a few blocks away from the perimeter of the site of alien attack, a realization that was cemented when a man came over to her asking if she wanted to help with the cleanup effort.

He told her there would be free food.

She said yes.

And that's how Harry found herself cleaning up Manhattan by day and researching at the library by night.

And that's how she met Steve Rogers.

Blond haired, blue eyed, walking American stereotype Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers: Captain bloody America and the counterpart of the first person Schmidt had killed in order to complete his ritual.

Harry had fun hanging out with Steve – it helped her forget the current predicament she had found herself in. It would have been better, though, if she didn't feel an overwhelming sense of guilt every time she looked at him on account of the fact that she was unable to prevent his counterpart's death.

If her universe's Steve Rogers was anything like the Steve Rogers she had interacted with, then her universe had lost a good man – maybe not a great man like Steve clearly was, but still a good man.

And she had used her magic to confound him. Well not necessarily confound him; more like persuaded him through magic that the piece of wreckage he had picked up that she had cast her feather-light charm on was not anything out of the ordinary.

Now Agent Travers, on the other hand, Harry had confounded him. She had used a fake coughing attack in order to avoid submitting her fingerprints, using her magic to confound him while she coughed. Granted her fake coughing attack had turned into a real one, causing her to have cast the charm a bit too well on accident.

The look of confusion on Agent Travers's face was priceless though.

However, it didn't stop Harry from feeling extremely guilty for having cast magic on the Agent and Steve. As an ex-auror Harry knew Agent Travers only acted the way he did because it was part of his job description; she had nothing against the man and she felt like he would probably be a fun guy to have a pint with. Using magic on him was regrettable but necessary if Harry was to keep her cover.

And Steve, well, Harry had started to see Steve as a potential friend, and using magic during a budding friendship on someone who doesn't know about it is a big betrayal of trust. Though after their last encounter Harry highly doubted they could ever be friends. It was probably for the best, though, considering Harry would be going back to her universe eventually and she didn't want to feel guilty for leaving a friend behind.

Harry slammed her head down on the computer desk out of frustration, the results from her search online once again leading to a dead-end.

Harry looked up, her head pounding from where it had made contact with the table, and looked back at the glaring monitor. The all knowing internet was being no help whatsoever.

Guess it was time to hit the books.

Fantastic.

Harry strolled over to the science section of the library, marveling once again over the size of it all.

And she thought Hogwarts had a large library.

Harry had learned early on in her homelessness that libraries were a great place to hang out for a few hours whenever she needed shelter. On rainy or snowy days she would stay inside the library reading any book she could get her hands on out of sheer boredom. When the weather was terrible during the night, she would use her magic to sneak in after the library closed and sleep in the comfy reading chairs.

When Harry went to Hogwarts she felt like she had no need to visit the school library; she had never been bored at Hogwarts and she hadn't require the library's shelter on account of her having her own bed in the Gryffindor Tower.

And then the troll incident happened and Hermione became one of her best friends. Needless to say the two girls bonded over how their childhoods were improved immensely because of libraries.

Harry had also started to spend a lot more time in the Hogwarts library acting as Hermione's study partner – Merlin knows Ron and Neville weren't going to do it.

Harry collapsed into a chair an hour later depositing the stack of books she collected onto the table in front of her. She was in the library's giant reading room surrounded by what seemed like a hundred people all engrossed in their own activities. Harry looked around the room and was reminded of the Great Hall at Hogwarts – a pang of homesickness hit her heart.

Hopefully one of the books she picked would have the solution she was looking for.

Years of magical research definitely came into play here. It took Harry about ten minutes to realize that the books she had chosen did not have the answers she was looking for. Pushing the stack to the side she got up and tried again.

She repeated the process for the rest of the day: get up, find what she felt were relevant books, sit down, look through them, feel disappointment.

Repeat.

It was Nicholas Flamel all over again.

Closing time was approaching and Harry had given up on her search for the day. She sat down at her spot, stacks of books surrounding her like a wall, rereading a Sherlock Holmes story.

Harry had to do something that wouldn't cause her to rip out her hair in frustration and rereading a story she had first read ten years ago seemed to do the trick.

Harry heard the chair across from her scrape across the floor as someone pulled it out. It was accompanied by a thump of books a second later and Harry looked up over her stack to see who dared disturb her research area.

It was Steve. He wore a plaid shirt, brown jacket, and khaki pants; Harry noticed he had his sunglasses and a baseball cap in his pockets.

Merlin she had terrible luck. Harry took a quick glance at the books he brought over, recognizing from the titles that they all related to World War II.

Harry guessed she wasn't the only one feeling homesick.

Harry looked back down at her book before she could catch Steve's eyes hoping that he wouldn't recognize her by the top of her head.

"Harry?" Steve asked, peering over the top of her stack of books and into her little nook. Harry looked up at Steve again to see he was still standing. She gave him a wave with one hand while placing a finger from the other one over her mouth to indicate that he should be silent.

Steve must have remembered where he was because a look of realization crossed his face. Nodding once, he sat down in his seat and picked up the first book in his pile.

Steve didn't try to talk to Harry after that. Harry saw that he became too engrossed in his book. She was fine with this; she really didn't need him asking her questions as to why she had about fifty books around her all about physics and a biology book that, judging by its title, Harry thought would have pertained to her search.

They continued to read in silence for a few minutes. Harry finished reading the Sherlock Holmes story and took a chance to check on how Steve was doing. He was still absorbed in his book, his jaw clenched and his face showing his concentration.

Harry decided that she had done enough research for the day. She stood up and started to deposit her books onto a cart for the librarians. It was a mark of how focused Steve was in his reading that he didn't even look up at her when she left.

Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or worried.

Harry had to walk past Steve in order to get back to her seat. As she passed Steve she peered down at what he was reading.

Harry stalled as soon as her eyes hit the page.

Steve was reading about the Holocaust. Harry's eyes glimpsed an image on the page – still, mutilated dead bodies against unmoving backgrounds.

Oh bloody hell.

Harry walked over to her remaining stacks of books and moved them out of her line-of-sight of Steve. She then placed both hands on the table and leaned down so that she was at eye level with him.

"Steve," she said quietly, her tone commanding. She watched as his jaw twitched but he made no other move to show that he had heard her.

"Steve, come on, look at me," Harry tried again, this time a bit louder. People were beginning to leave the library and Harry was allowed to be a bit louder than normal this close to closing time.

Steve looked up from the book at Harry. Steve looked the angriest Harry had ever seen him, his body stiff. But behind it all Harry could see how hurt Steve felt, how devastated he was by what he read.

"The library's closing," Harry said, her voice firm, "we need to leave."

She could see Steve trying to repress his rage, his body shaking minutely. After a minute of waiting Steve finally moved, standing up from his chair. Harry took the opportunity to close the book while he wasn't looking and placed it next to her pile of books. She walked around the table to stand in front of Steve. She watched his face for any change in his mood.

Steve's jaw was clenched so tightly that Harry was surprised he hadn't broken it yet.

"Come along Steve," Harry said, looking him directly in his eyes. She used the same tone of voice as she had used when talking to her frightened housemates after their first times of having detention with the Carrows – a good mixture of maternal and commanding.

Harry started to walk backward slowly until she saw Steve begin to move forward as well. When he reached her she turned around so she could walk with him out the exit.

Harry knew a thing or two about being so angry that she was driven into silence; more often than not it signified that she was about one bad remark away from yelling at the nearest person. However, Harry wasn't sure if Steve was the type to yell his rage – whether he was or not she needed to find him a place where he could at least vent his feelings without being watched.

Harry led her silently fuming partner away from the library and towards Central Park. They walked for a while, Harry sneaking glances at Steve every now and then to make sure he was still with her. Harry had subtlety casted a notice-me-not charm on herself and Steve when they exited the library and she watched as the strangers on street unconsciously avoided the two of them as they made their way towards the park.

It took roughly half an hour for Harry and Steve to make it from the library to Central Park; by the time they got there the sun was setting, though the park still seemed as active as ever. Harry walked over to a secluded area, beckoning Steve to follow, and she silently set up wards so they could have some privacy.

Harry was worried about Steve. Throughout the entire walk he was completely silent and his mood hadn't changed. She really hoped her plan would get him out of whatever state of mind he was in.

She turned around to face Steve who stood rigidly a few feet away from her. Harry gave him a comforting smile as she clapped her hands.

"Okay, yell," she told him, her voice allowing no room for an argument.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Steve looked at her with confusion on his face. Harry's mind gave a triumphant 'whoop' in celebration – she had started to worry that he wasn't going to be able to feel anything else besides rage and despair.

"Go ahead, yell. Its fine, we're alone. Yell, scream, get mad, do whatever you want," Harry said. She spread her arms out and twisted from one side to the other as if to illustrate just how fine it was if he wanted to let loose.

Harry watched as confusion started to take over the remaining rage left on Steve's face. She watched as his body relaxed out of the stiffness it had been in. Steve started to collapse in on himself out of despair.

Well, this was the opposite of what Harry wanted.

Steve sat himself down on the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself.

Harry was beginning to feel uncomfortable and if Steve started to cry she just might have to leave; and it wasn't because she had anything against Steve if he had to cry, she was just really bad at comforting people who happened to be crying. On a scale from 'most comforting' to 'least comforting' in regard to a crying person, Harry placed at 'why is she trying to comfort this person she is terrible, please stop.'

Luckily for Harry it didn't look like Steve was going to break down into tears anytime soon. Harry realized suddenly that Steve looked like someone who had just come suspiciously close to having their soul sucked out of them by a dementor. Chocolate seemed to be in order, however it could wait until after she snapped Steve out of the despair and guilt ridden funk he seemed to have placed himself in.

Guilt. She saw it in his eyes. Guilt and despair were a wickedly unhealthy combination to feel – Harry knew from firsthand experience.

"I know we don't know each other very well so what I'm going to tell you is going to sound like empty words instead of hypocritical like they should be," Harry told Steve as she sat herself down in front of him.

"Steve, the Holocaust is not your fault," she said looking him directly in his eyes.

He was silent and Harry let the information soak into his head. Steve slowly began to loosen up, his arms dropping to his side.

"I know that," Steve said, his voice tired, "I just – "

He shook his head at a loss for words. Harry understood.

"Didn't know it was that bad?" Harry asked, trying to say what Steve could not. "You didn't know what the Nazi's were doing to the Jews and the other prisoners of war in the internment camps – no one did. Everyone only learned about how bad it was _after_ Hitler killed himself, _after _the war.

"I understand why you would feel guilty Steve, I really do. I – "Harry stopped herself from saying anything else; she threw her hands up in the air out of frustration.

Steve looked at her critically, as though he was judging how honest she was being. Steve's legs dropped and he positioned himself to sit cross-legged, his elbows resting on his thighs.

"We should have known," Steve said weakly, his face in complete anguish.

"You and your allies' heads were in the right place, but sometimes no matter how well prepared you are, or how good your surveillance is, some things are able to be kept secret – even something as terrible as the Holocaust.

"It's not your fault," Harry added for good measure, seeing that her words had some affect on him.

"I should have fought the Nazis," Steve said, regret coloring his voice.

"If I have my history correct, isn't that what you were doing?" Harry asked, genuinely confused.

The day she learned that her silent partner-in-cleanup was really Steve Rogers, Harry decided to research what made him so special in this universe. The answer was that he was a super soldier.

Steve Rogers was this world's first superhero.

The ritual hadn't been kidding about the 'ordinary in one world, extraordinary in another' bit. The Steve Rogers in her world was just an ordinary wizard who had suffered from reoccurring bouts of spattergroit. Her universe's Rogers would never have left a mark on history quite like Steve had.

Steve had been the lead fighter against the organization HYDRA, which had acted as the Nazi's science and weapons development division. According to the history books, Steve and his Howling Commandos were heroes.

"I was fighting HYDRA," Steve explained. His eyes were distant and Harry did not like the look of that.

"And HYDRA was a division of the Nazi's, yeah?" Harry asked trying to goad him out of his depression.

"They broke off from the Nazi's towards the end," Steve explained in a monotonous tone.

Harry ran a hand through her hair. She slowly began to realize that her plan wasn't going to work and that she needed a different tactic if she wanted to succeed. Then she realized, rather late, that Steve probably wasn't this depressed because he found out about the Holocaust.

No, the Holocaust was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Fuck it," Harry declared suddenly, throwing her hands up in the air in surrender before getting up. Steve was taken aback by Harry's outburst, and he watched silently as Harry began to pace in front of him.

"You're upset Steve, I get it. You have a lot of shit to deal with and finding out about the Holocaust did not help. But you know what will? Chocolate.

"So here's my plan. We are going out and we are going to eat an unhealthy amount of chocolate and then we're going to get so drunk that we forget our troubles and then we're going to sleep it all off. Sound good?" Harry asked, stopping her pacing in order to look directly at Steve.

Harry thought her plan was amazing, one of the best she's ever had. Who would ever say no to eating chocolate and drinking their feelings away? Hell, Harry had wanted to do that ever since she started to realize that there was no way for her to get back home.

And that had been a week ago.

Steve looked at her, his expression hadn't changed during her plan – he still looked forlorn and guilt-ridden – though Harry noticed that there was something in his eyes. It looked like gratitude.

"I can't get drunk," Steve said after a minute of silence. Harry looked at him as though he was an alien.

"You poor bastard," Harry said part joking and part serious. For the first time that day Steve smiled at Harry. Granted it was a sad smile, but it was still progress.

Harry's mind cheered in victory.

"Fine," she continued, smacking her hands on her hips, "strike the alcohol. But we're still going out and eating our weight in chocolate."

Harry held out her hand for Steve; miraculously he took it, and Harry helped Steve stand up from the ground.

Harry watched as Steve dusted the dirt from his clothes before standing in his neutral pose. Harry nodded in approval and gave him a smile.

"Right, time for chocolate," she said after she clapped him on his arm.

The two walked off into the night on a quest for chocolate.

* * *

Author's Note:

I am floored by all the positive responses you guys have been giving my story - thank you so much!

I noticed some of you had questions or comments and I'll quickly address some of them now:

- Neville was the boy-who-lived in Harry's universe, so he did kill Voldemort

- Harry never was the owner of all three of the Deathly Hallows in this story, so she's not going to be Master/Mistress of Death - this does not mean she is ignorant to what the Deathly Hallows are or the Tale of the Three Brothers.

- The pace is slow right now because I want to establish Harry and Steve's friendship before the plot picks up. Hopefully the pace picks up once the action begins but I might just be a terrible writer who ends up writing really slow paced stories.

- It's going to be a while until Harry is introduced to any of the other Avengers, so for those hoping for some good Harry and Tony banter will have to wait for a while.

And that's all I feel comfortable telling you right now. Everything else will hopefully be addressed in the story.

Once again thanks for all the love and support you guys have been showing this story - you are all amazing.


	5. Chapter 4

Harry turned into the candy aisle, her arms laden with bottles of liquor. She found Steve standing in front of the display of chocolates, his eyebrows drawn in concentration.

Harry and Steve were in a supermarket, Steve wearing his baseball cap and sunglasses at Harry's insistence. She didn't feel comfortable using magic on Steve now that he was finally aware of what was going on around him, so for his sake she told him cover up to avoid the public eye.

"I know you can't get drunk, but you can still taste alcohol," Harry said once she was within Steve's hearing range, and he looked up at her as she finally reached him.

"And this," she continued, maneuvering the bottles in her arms, "apparently tastes like cake."

She held up a bottle of cake-infused vodka for Steve to see, causing his eyebrows to rise in surprise.

"And what do the others taste like?" Steve asked, pointing to the other bottles of alcohol she had in her arms.

"They taste like how you'd expect them to taste," Harry said as she carefully placed the bottles on a shelf of sugar next to the candy. She looked at Steve as he observed her bounty of rum, gin, vodka, and whiskey.

"I didn't know what kind of alcohol you prefer," Harry explained as she ran her hand through her hair. Steve's lips quirked in amusement.

"I'm perfectly fine with beer," Steve said giving her an exhausted smile.

"Of course you are," Harry said as she started to choose which bottles to take back.

"But what kind of beer?" she asked looking expectantly at Steve. He shrugged his shoulders in response, clearly overwhelmed with the variety.

"Normal beer?" he asked as if that was a viable option. Harry gave him a sigh.

"Do you have any idea how many 'normal beers' there are in this place?" Harry asked him, her arms once again loaded with alcohol. She was two bottles lighter, leaving the cake vodka and a bottle of whiskey on the shelf next to Steve.

The vodka was for the both of them, the whiskey was for her.

"I'm guessing it's a lot," Steve replied with a sarcastic tone. Harry snorted at Steve's comment as she left.

Harry put the bottles back in their proper place before going over to the beer section and picking up the first 'normal beer' she could find.

"How's this?" she asked holding up a six-pack of generic beer. Steve looked up from the bag of Hersey Kisses he was holding to check out the beer.

"Yep, that looks like beer," he replied putting the bag back on the shelf.

"Good," Harry said, holding out the beer for him to take. She looked at his empty hands.

"Where's the chocolate?" she asked him. Steve had been alone in the candy aisle for at least ten minutes, why his hands were empty was completely beyond Harry's comprehension.

"I couldn't decide," he said with a defeated tone. Steve looked back at the shelf as though he didn't understand where all the diversities of candies had come from. Harry guessed that's what happened when someone misses almost 70 years of history.

"Steve, we are trying to eat our weight in chocolate. You don't need to decide anything, you just pick up anything that has the word 'chocolate' on it," Harry explained as if he was a child who needed help with a difficult math problem.

Steve looked at her with a face that clearly asked if she was being serious.

Harry rolled her eyes.

"Is there anything here that you recognize?" Harry asked, her eyes already scanning which chocolates she would grab if Steve couldn't decide on anything.

"Yeah, the M&Ms," Steve said, bending down in order to grab a bag of milk chocolate M&Ms. He looked at the bag, his jaw clenched.

"Good, then get them," Harry told him as she started to grab different chocolate bars of varying cocoa percentages and flavors.

"The packaging is different," Steve told her, his voice disappointed.

"Well it would be weird if they kept the same packaging for 70 years. However, I guarantee you that it will taste exactly like you remember them – if a bit more sugary."

Steve's face once more descended into a deep sadness and Harry really wished she hadn't said that.

"So, it's a different package but the same candy?" Steve asked suddenly, his face back to his neutral setting. Harry realized that Steve must have had some sort of epiphany and so decided not to ruin it for him.

"Yep, exactly like that. Though, again, the candy might be a bit more sugary than you remember – or less. I don't know," Harry gave up at the end deciding to just let the matter drop.

Steve gave a nod at Harry's words and Harry could see a ghost of a smile on Steve's face; though that was lost immediately once he glanced at her arms.

"Is that for us?" he asked incredulously looking at the bags of chocolates cradled in her arms and the bars of chocolates grasped in her hands.

"No, this is for me," she said seriously causing Steve to look at her with his eyebrows raised.

Harry rolled her eyes, again.

"Of course this is for us," she snapped, watching as relief flooded his face. Harry looked at Steve unamused.

"What?" he asked genuinely curious.

"Nothing," she told him, shaking her head.

"Grab the alcohol and come along," Harry commanded to Steve as she walked away.

They visited the snack aisle in order to get something that would act as a buffer in their stomach between all the chocolate and alcohol – they ended up getting potato chips and beef jerky.

"You have to buy the alcohol," Harry told Steve as they made their way to the check-out, "I'm not of age to buy alcohol here. Do you have any money?"

Steve nodded his head.

"Yeah, SHIELD gave me a credit card," he told her. Harry could tell he still wasn't sure what a credit card was –granted, neither did Harry.

"That's okay, I have money," she told him as they got in-line. Harry maneuvered the chocolate and snacks in her arms so she could reach her mokeskin pouch, which she opened to withdraw a hundred dollar bill. Steve's eyes narrowed.

"Is that the money from the bribe?" he asked suspiciously.

"Do you mean 'is that the money you received from helping to apprehend Rita Skeeter?' Because that's where the money came from," Harry countered, looking at Steve with a critical gaze. Steve looked at Harry, confused, causing her to sigh.

"The envelope Agent Travers gave me contained five-thousand dollars, which was supposed to be the bribe money; but he also included a note saying that I was to receive a portion of the reward money for helping apprehend Skeeter and directions on how I was supposed to contact them to get it. Long story short, I took the reward and gave back the bribe. I did tell you that I don't take bribes."

Even if the bribe was significantly more than the reward.

Harry told Steve this in a quiet tone, aware that people could eavesdrop at anytime. She looked discreetly to make sure no one had heard – she was relieved to find that the sounds of the registers and the music drowned out their conversation.

Steve fell into silence, his face set in contemplation. It was a good thing their conversation had ended, considering they were next inline.

Harry went first and she watched as the cashier began to scan the candy. He was young, around Harry's age, and he did not look like he was having a good day.

Harry was surprised at the total, not realizing that chocolate, chips, and jerky could cost as much as it rung up as. With the transaction completed, Harry moved over so that Steve could buy the booze. She handed Steve money, not wanting him to pay for alcohol with something SHIELD had control over; he looked like he wanted to object but she merely poked the cash against his arm until he caved in and grabbed it.

It was her idea to buy the alcohol after all and she'd be damned if she didn't pay for it.

The cashier grabbed the six-pack of beers first, swiping it against the scanner.

"Can I please see some ID?" the cashier asked in a tone of voice the conveyed that he had just decided to give up on life.

Steve discreetly looked over at Harry and she could see his 'deer-in-the-headlights' expression even with his sunglasses on. All she could do was shrug haplessly at him.

She kept forgetting that Steve was famous in this universe and that people could connect his name with Captain America. If the cashier took one look at his ID and was able to make the connection then there was going to be some very entertaining headlines come morning.

She highly doubted that Steve owned a fake ID and she started to hope that SHIELD gave him an ID with a pseudonym on it. Though, judging by Steve's expression it was clear to Harry that they hadn't.

Amateurs.

Steve handed over his ID card and Harry wondered whether she would be able to confound the kid when the strangest thing happened.

Steve and Harry watched as the cashier's eyes zeroed in on the date of birth. He then typed it in and handed Steve his ID card back; all of this done without looking at anything else on the card.

Steve took his ID, placing it back in his wallet. The two watched as the cashier went back to his work, completely oblivious to what had just happened.

Harry and Steve shared a glance, Harry's face screaming "what the fuck is wrong with this kid" while Steve looked relieved.

Harry looked back at the cashier and noticed just how drained he looked – physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Harry felt bad for the kid.

She rifled through her grocery bags looking for the fancier looking bars of chocolate. When she had the two she wanted she looked up at the cashier to check his name tag.

"Hey Trenton, what do you like better: milk or dark chocolate?" Harry asked, looking directly at the cashier.

Trenton, the cashier, looked up from the register where he was totaling Steve's purchase.

"What?" Trenton asked, genuinely confused. In response, Harry held up the bars of chocolate.

"Milk or dark?" she asked again, waving the bars in the air.

Realization washed over Trenton's face, and he looked around at his coworkers before looking back at Harry. He was definitely self-conscious.

"I don't think I can," he told Harry, trying his best to decline while being polite.

"Yeah you can," Harry told him, a mischievous smile on her face. Trenton looked like he was going to decline again but Harry interrupted him before he could begin.

"If you're worried about your superiors just tell them it's a gift. Happy early and/or belated birthday," Harry said, holding out the chocolate bars for him to grab. For the first time in their brief acquaintance Trenton smiled.

"Thank you," he said in wonder, grabbing the milk chocolate bar. Harry placed the dark chocolate one back with the rest of the chocolate.

"You are very welcome," Harry told him as she grabbed her grocery bags. Harry looked over at Steve as he went to grab the bag of alcohol. She noticed that he was giving her a strange look.

They wished Trenton a good day and left the store, heading directly to the nearest subway station.

"That was nice of you," Steve finally said once they had left.

"It's been known to happen," Harry retorted without missing a beat. "Besides, you aren't the only one who seems to be having a bad day."

They stopped once they reached the subway terminal, tickets in hand, each waiting for the other to move.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked after an awkward moment of standing around.

"I don't know," Steve answered.

They looked at each other, Harry unamused and Steve sheepish.

"Steve you do remember that I am homeless, right?" Harry asked, looking Steve in the eye.

Harry watched as Captain America blushed out of embarrassment.

"I thought that you would have started to stay in at a motel now that you have money," Steve explained embarrassed.

"In New York City?" Harry asked incredulously. "Not gonna lie, I'd much rather live on the streets and have money for food for a couple of months than stay in a hotel for a week with no money for anything else."

Of course that was because Harry had magic, which gave her security and helped her stay hygienic. If there was a way to create food with magic then Harry wouldn't have need for money in the first place.

"Good point," Steve agreed. He started to walk away, Harry following quickly behind him.

"Guess we're going to Brooklyn then," Steve told her once they finally arrived at the right platform.

The trip into Brooklyn took a while and Harry decided to start the chocolate eating early. She brought out the bag of M&Ms and opened them and, with a little goading to Steve, the two of them were able to eat the majority of the M&Ms by the time they got off at their stop.

Harry followed Steve through the streets of Brooklyn, listening when he spoke up about what had changed since he was a kid. His comments were little things – 'that used to be a drug store,' or 'someone beat me up in that alleyway' – but Harry could see the changes meant a lot to Steve.

When Steve opened the door to his apartment Harry let out a low whistle. It was big – far too big for someone who was living alone – and decorated with vintage looking furniture.

"Merlin, Steve, how'd you get the money for this place?" Harry asked as she followed his lead of placing the grocery bags on the coffee table in the living room.

"SHIELD actually placed me here," Steve explained as he left for the kitchen. Harry looked around at the living room and noticed how it didn't seem lived in.

"Why?" Harry asked as she strolled casually over to the kitchen. She was greeted to the sight of Steve looking through his cabinets.

He looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to tell Harry as he continued looking for whatever it was he was trying to find.

"Well, for one thing they were the ones to find me in the ice, so they feel responsible for me," Steve started to explain, giving up on his search. "They also were the ones to create the Avengers and I did work closely with them when dealing with Loki and during the Chitauri attack, so I know they're the good guys. And now I'm working for them, so I guess this apartment can be seen as part of my pay."

"Well, that's nice of them," Harry stated. She had guessed that SHIELD had hired Steve to do whatever it is SHIELD does – spying or something along those lines.

After all, a secret government agency doesn't just give anyone a credit card.

"I don't have shot glasses," Steve confessed suddenly, turning to give Harry an apologetic look. Harry didn't know why he would be sorry about that, it's not like he had use for them normally.

"That's alright," Harry told him, "it's not like we need them for anything but the vodka. Do you have any weird mouth diseases I should know about?"

Steve looked at her with a perplexed expression on his face.

"No. Why?" he asked, drawing out the 'no' to show his confusion.

"Cool," Harry said in way of answer, "we can just take turns drinking from the bottle then."

She tried to make her way back to the living room but Steve's surprised "What?" caught her off guard.

"We can take turns drinking – "Harry started to repeat but stopped after seeing the look of judgmental disgust on his face.

"What?" Harry asked, not understanding why he was looking at her like that.

"We are not doing that," Steve told her, crossing his arms.

"Why not? I do it all the time with my friends!"

Which was true; Harry had very fond memories of the nights when she and her friends decided to get drunk together. She, Neville, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Luna passing around a bottle of firewhiskey until they were all sufficiently drunk were some of the best bonding experiences she had had with her friends post-Hogwarts. The only stipulation was that Ron could not eat while he was sharing the bottle – his backwash was dreadful.

Harry shook her head to try to get rid of the sudden homesickness, her eyes focusing on Steve's face.

He did not look convinced.

"Its fine," Harry practically yelled throwing her hands out in irritation. "Anyway, how much flavored vodka are you planning on drinking, Rogers?"

Harry placed her hands on her hips, causing Steve to roll his eyes.

Steve walked past Harry out of the kitchen and into the living room, Harry following close behind. He went straight for the open bag of M&Ms while Harry opened up the bottle of vodka. Without waiting for Steve's approval she took a large swig from the bottle, feeling the burn spread around her mouth and throat.

She held out the bottle for Steve to take, her face set in a challenge. He took the bottle from her and, without further complaint, took a sip from the bottle. Harry watched as his eyes widened in surprise.

"That tastes like cake," he said astonished.

"Well, it is cake-flavored vodka," Harry told him, grabbing the bottle from him. She took another drink from the bottle, tasting the vanilla cake and the burn from the vodka as soon as it hit her tongue.

"It tastes like cake," Steve repeated, no longer as surprised as he had been.

"Obviously," Harry said, doing a remarkable impression of her late potions professor, Severus Snape.

Steve was unamused, but he still grabbed the bottle from Harry and took another drink from it.

For the next hour the two of them took turns drinking from the bottle, spending the time in between eating chocolate and the snacks. Steve would ask Harry questions pertaining to the chocolate she bought and Harry came up with bullshit answers because, Hell, she didn't know the answers, but she felt obligated to answer because that's what Ron did for her, damn it.

Spending time with Steve like this reminded Harry of her first trip on the Hogwarts Express; she and Ron had eaten all the candy she had bought, discussing trivial things about themselves while Hermione looked on in disapproval and Neville fretted about Trevor, his toad, who he had somehow lost on the train.

Harry and Ron had been so relieved once Hermione and Neville left to go find Trevor – Hermione had been annoying at age eleven and they were glad Neville finally asked her for help to find Trevor.

Harry felt another bout of homesickness creep up on her as she bit into a dark chocolate bar. She reached out for the vodka, gulping it down in the hopes that it would banish her thoughts from her head.

"I think you've had enough," Steve told her as she brought the vodka down from her face.

"You've had enough," Harry countered, face set in a pout as Steve took the bottle from her. The vodka was almost gone.

Harry watched as Steve drank the rest of it; she didn't care, the people who finished the bottle always had to deal with the backwash so in a way Steve lost this round.

Harry stuffed her face with the rest of her chocolate bar, reaching over to get the whiskey; however before she could grab it Steve swiped it from the table along with the six-pack of beer.

"Oi!" Harry called out as she watched Steve take the remaining alcohol to the kitchen.

"You've had enough," Steve repeated, his voice echo-y as he called out from the kitchen.

"I'm fine!" Harry yelled out, ignoring how slurred her words had become. She suddenly felt extremely hot and so took off her coat, throwing it carelessly to the floor.

"Bullshit you're fine," Steve snapped as he came back into the living room with two giant glasses of water. He placed one in front of Harry, holding the other in his hand. He then sat down on the couch, reaching over with his free hand for a bag of chocolate chips.

Harry suddenly felt like doing a handstand. Getting up from her spot on the floor, Harry moved over to where there was room for her activity.

"If I wasn't fine, could I do this?" she asked, going into a handstand.

"Harry what are you doing?" Steve asked, his voice portraying a man who was starting to question his life choices.

"Magic," Harry replied back sarcastically – as if Steve couldn't see what she was doing.

She wanted to see how long she could stay in a handstand; it had been a while since the last time she had done one and her arms started to shake with the effort of keeping her body off the ground.

One time at a Weasley family dinner, Ginny and Harry had been discussing the craziest stunts they had ever done on a broom. When Harry confessed that she had once been able to perform a handstand on her broom while fifty feet up in the air, Ron and George had interrupted their conversation to say how easy that sounded.

Of course the argument led to Harry and Ginny performing handstands, Ron sprawled out on the floor in pain, and George taking pictures of the spectacle with his camera.

Mrs. Weasley had not been amused by their shenanigans.

Harry's arms gave out on her; luckily her reflexes kicked in and she was able to roll effortlessly into a sitting position, her legs crossed.

"Well, now we know you can do that," Steve stated, leaving the 'when drunk' off the end of his sentence.

Harry flipped him off.

"What's that on your hand?" Steve asked suddenly, pointing towards the back of her hand. She flipped her hand around, the back of her middle finger displayed prominently for her to see.

"What's what?" Harry asked, cursing in her mind at how her words slurred.

Steve got up from the couch and walked over to her, grabbing her wrist with one hand and her hand with his other. He turned it around so he could inspect the back of her hand, but Harry focused more on how his one hand was completely covering her bracelet.

"What's _this_?" he asked, running his thumb over the back of her hand.

_I must not tell lies. _

"Oh, uh, detention," Harry told him without thinking, her mind still wondering why her magic hadn't shocked him when he touched her bracelet like it normally did to other people.

Was it because he was a super soldier and they don't feel pain?

Steve looked down at the scar before looking back at Harry, horrified.

"What kind of detention is this?" Steve asked enraged.

"Lines," Harry said back, making the matter worse.

Fifth year had been hell on Harry and her friends for many reasons, though it was mainly due to Dolores Umbridge, the ministry appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The first day of class she had given Neville detention because he stood by his story of how Cedric Diggory died and how Voldemort was back.

And Harry, being Harry, had come to Neville's defense by calling Umbridge a 'Minister Fudge-sucking cunt.'

Harry always had been better than Neville at expressing her outrage.

Needless to say, she and Neville had matching scars on their hands, products of their shared detentions.

"What made you decided to go to the library earlier today?" Harry asked before Steve could continue his line of questioning. She needed to focus on something that wasn't her friends.

Steve's eyes narrowed at the change of subject. Harry watched as he continued to inspect her hand, his eyes finally focusing on the scars the peppered her arms.

Harry cleared her throat, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"Well," Harry said, trying to prompt him into an answer. Steve looked her in the face, and Harry watched how Steve actually looked at her face for the first time.

"You have a lot of scars," Steve told her, stating the obvious.

Of course she has a lot of scars; homeless, trouble maker, quidditch player, fighter, auror. Harry didn't have a very quiet life and her hobbies tended to be on the dangerous side.

"And you haven't answered my question," Harry replied, trying to get him to change the subject.

Steve let go of Harry's wrist and sat down on the ground with his back against the coffee table. He reached around and grabbed a bag of Hersey Kisses off the table and tossed the bag on the floor in between himself and Harry.

They sat like that for a while, silently eating the chocolates.

"SHIELD wants to make sure I'm caught up to on the past 70 years of history and culture before they send me out for missions," Steve began. Harry stopped what she was doing to listen, her glass of water half way to her mouth.

"They had glossed over the end of World War II in order to get me more informed on what has been going on recently. Today just happened to be the day they finally went into detail. I went to the library to see for myself if what they told me was actually true," Steve explained, and Harry could hear the bitterness in his voice.

"That's fucked up," Harry told him, taking a sip of her water. Harry hated when people kept information from her because they thought it was for her own good – she also hated it when other people did it to her friends.

Silence descended between them after that. Neither one of them wanted to talk. Their unasked questions hung in the air around them like stale smoke.

Steve stared down at his feet, his eyes unfocused in thought. Harry, on the other hand, was trying to fight off sleep, her blinks becoming longer until it was a Herculean effort to lift her eyelids.

A few minutes later, Harry drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Harry woke up with her knife in her hand, eyes wide in fear, and her head pounding from the hangover.

Her nightmare slipped from her mind as she took in her surroundings.

She was no longer in the living room; instead she was in a bed, presumably Steve's. The room was dark, however the door was open and the hallway light was on, the light flooding the dark room so she could see. Steve was slumped in a chair within Harry's eyesight, asleep; no doubt he had sat there to make sure she didn't die from choking on her own vomit.

Speaking of which.

Harry threw off the covers, resolving to yell at Steve about how she didn't need him to baby her _after_ she had taken care of her upset stomach. She slipped her knife back into its holster located around her right calf and she checked to make sure it hadn't nicked her skin when she had summoned it in her sleep.

She had awoken from one too many nightmares with a bloody leg because of the blasted habit. Luckily it hadn't happened this time.

She stayed close to the walls as she made her way to the bathroom. She didn't have enough focus to cast a silencing charm once she was there and she hoped Steve wasn't a light sleeper. Harry lowered herself in front of the toilet bowl and waited.

She left the bathroom a few minutes later with an empty stomach and a rinsed out mouth. Feeling thirsty, Harry went back to the living room, knowing it was the last place she had had her water.

But when she got there she saw that Steve had cleaned up the mess, including her water. Harry didn't feel like going all the way to the kitchen and she was about to sit down on the couch when something caught her eye.

There was a filing cabinet in the corner of the room, a piece of furniture Harry had overlooked earlier but one that caught her eye now because one of the drawers was ajar.

Harry walked over to inspect it, her curiosity taking over her rational part of her brain. Inside the drawer was an open case, and Harry reached in and pulled out the files inside.

They were SHIELD documents, each a profile of a different person. Harry looked through them, noticing how many of them had a big red 'DECEASED' stamped across them.

Colonel Chester Philips, Jim Morita, Gabe Jones, James Montgomery Falsworth, Timothy 'Dum Dum' Dugan, Jacques Dernier, Howard Stark – all deceased.

Harry's eyes paused on Howard Stark's file; she had seen Howard Stark in her universe, though she didn't have time to talk to him – she had been too preoccupied at the time trying to keep his son from being killed.

For all the disagreements Howard Stark had with his son, Harry remembered seeing him and Tony fighting side by side against Stane as she had fought against Schmidt – too bad Stane and Schmidt had been better duelists.

She put those files to the side, making sure to keep them in the order she found them. Years of indulging her curiosity had at least taught her how to not get caught when rifling through classified documents.

Tony Stark's file was next and Harry noted how his was the first one to not have the big red letters stamped across it; he was also the only one not from the World War II era, no doubt placed in the file because he was the child of one of Steve's old friends.

Because that's what the case contained, Harry realized – they were files about Steve's friends and colleagues from World War II.

She placed Tony Stark's file with the others, holding the last two in her hands.

The immediate thing she noticed was that the files were more wrinkled, signs that Steve focused on them more than the others.

The first was of James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes, the big 'DECEASED' stamped on his page. Harry frowned, a feeling of sadness engulfing her.

She had actually talked to Bucky back in her own universe, having interrogated him about how his best friend, Steve Rogers, had died. He had been nice, aged through grief, and was willing to humor Harry by answering her questions.

She looked over the document, noticing that the Bucky in this universe had died while Steve was still living in the 40s, which would explain why the paper was more worn than the others had been.

Steve was still grieving for Bucky.

Of course fate would have it that the two men would be friends in both universes, only for one of them to have to grieve for his friend who was still alive in the other universe.

Harry placed Bucky's file down with the others, leaving the last document in her hand.

Agent Margaret 'Peggy' Carter. Her file and the documents inside were wrinkled and worn – Steve had clearly looked at it far more than the others.

Harry noticed several things about this particular document. The first was that she was the only woman in the pile, and Harry silently congratulated the woman on her obvious importance in SHIELD's history. The second thing Harry noticed about the document was its lack of red ink.

Agent Carter was still alive.

Harry nodded in approval, reading over her documents. Harry was never one for role models, but she felt like Carter would have been a good one for her when she was going to school. From what Harry gathered from the file, Agent Carter was a bit of a badass – and it was only an overview of what she had done.

Harry's eyes were drawn to her contact information, noticing that the area around her phone number was smudged and crinkled; Steve must have contemplated whether or not he wanted to call her.

"Harry?" Steve's voice interrupted her inspection, and Harry spun around trying to hide the files behind her back.

"I'm not a spy," Harry blurted out, silently berating the fact that it was the first thing that came out of her mouth.

Steve's face was blank of all emotions, and Harry cringed. She placed Agent Carter's file with the others and slowly stepped away from the documents, raising her hands in the air to show she meant no harm.

Harry watched as Steve resorted back to how he had been at the library: stiff body, blank face, slightly shaking. Well, there went a successful plan down in flames at the last second – didn't surprise Harry all that much considering her plans never worked.

Harry contemplated how she could make this situation better. She would have to apologize, though she wasn't sure if that would be a good thing to do right now. Harry had learned through experience that apologizing immediately after being caught in wrong-doing was a terrible idea.

"Have you called her?" Harry asked instead, watching Steve for his reaction. He looked at her, something unidentifiable flashing through his eyes.

"Agent Carter, have you called her?" Harry tried again after Steve refused to answer.

Steve ignored Harry's second ask, walking instead over to the documents. Grabbing the files he stuffed them back in the drawer before shutting it closed. Harry saw that it obviously pained him emotionally to do such a thing.

Harry, however, had no sympathy for him.

"Steve, stop being a coward, will you?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Steve turned to look at her, his face starting to show his rage.

Good.

"Excuse you," Steve said, glaring at Harry. Harry glared right back.

"Stop acting like a bloody coward, Rogers, I don't have time for your shit," she told him, her own anger coming out in her voice.

She wasn't entirely sure why she was getting angry at Steve. Then again, Steve wasn't the only one who was having difficulties coming to terms with their present situation and Steve was the only person she could vent her frustrations to.

"Have you called Agent Carter or not?" Harry asked, her tone leaving no room for arguments.

"What is wrong with you?" Steve asked instead, walking up to Harry. He stood at his full height, his stance confrontational.

That was a loaded question with a myriad of answers. The main answer was that she was angry at herself for not knowing how to get back home. Another answer was that she was starting to sober up.

"At the current moment it's your bloody attitude," Harry answered instead, seeing how willing Steve was to get into an argument. If Steve wanted a confrontation Harry was happy to oblige.

"You see, Rogers, I didn't realize that the man behind Captain America was such a fucking coward," Harry sneered.

"Really," Steve asked sarcasm in his voice.

"Yep," Harry said, cursing his unwillingness to bite the bait, "a coward and a really terrible friend."

Steve's face remained stoic, though Harry could see her words hit him hard.

"You haven't tried calling her at all, have you?" she accused.

"When would I have to time to do that?" Steve countered angrily.

"Oh, I don't know," Harry said, sarcasm rolling off her tongue in waves, "how about at _any point in time since you've been out of the ice?_ I would have thought that would have been a _perfect_ time to call her."

"And say what, exactly? Hello Peggy, it's Steve. Sorry it's been almost 70 years and I know that you've moved on with your life, but are you still available for that date or are we going to have to reschedule?"

The two looked at each other after Steve's outburst. Harry was glad to note that it looked as though a small weight had lifted off of Steve's shoulders at the admission, but if Harry was being completely honest with herself she was really angry.

Steve and Agent Carter no doubt had romantic feelings for each other back in the 40s – hell they were supposed to go on a date – and Steve's unwillingness to contact the now ninety-two year old Agent Carter made Harry livid.

After all, if that's how he treated the woman he had feelings for how does he treat his friends?

"Yes!" Harry yelled, not understanding how he hadn't thought about doing that before.

"Or, alternatively, you could have just called to say that you aren't dead and go from there," Harry amended, watching as Steve looked away from her, backing down on his confrontational stance.

Steve's face fell into guilt and remorse and longing, and Harry was five minutes away from pulling out her hair in frustration.

She seriously had no time for his shit right now – not when she was struggling to deal with her own.

"Is this really the reason why you've been acting like a moody teenager the entire bloody day?" Harry asked, her voice showing how frustrated she was with him. "Because you're too much of a coward to call up the one person alive who actually knows what the hell happened when you went under? Or is it because you'd rather wallow in self pity than be a good friend?

"You know what, Steve, I'm really tempted to just punch you in the face right now. You're being an idiot," Harry told him, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"You wouldn't understand," Steve snapped, though it was probably the wrong thing to say to Harry at the present moment.

Harry had to contain her objection to his words. After all, Harry didn't know what it was like to be displaced 70 years into the future resulting in everyone she had ever loved to have died after long and happy lives which she could read about through reports.

No, all she knew about was what it was like to be displaced into another universe entirelywith absolutely no knowledge of how to get back home, or if Schmidt and Stane had been apprehended, or whether anyone she loves is safe and happy_._

No, it was clear Harry had no idea how Steve was feeling.

"THEN MAKE ME UNDERSTAND," Harry yelled, no longer able to contain her anger. Her words rang out in the silent room and Harry had to take a moment to get her emotions back under control.

Steve remained silent, the task Harry set before him was too hard for him to put into words.

"Everyone's allowed to be a coward once in a while but not for this long," Harry told him, disappointment coloring her voice.

"You don't owe me an explanation Steve," she continued, "but you do owe one to Agent Carter. And you better find the words soon because the whole world knows you're back now and I highly doubt she's going to wait for you anymore."

Harry made to leave, but before she did she turned back to look at Steve.

"Do you know what kind of an opportunity you have here? You have a chance for closure, a chance to find peace and to move on. And yet here you are, fucking it up because you're feeling sorry for yourself. I'm sorry but I can't deal with you if you're going to be moping around because you can't get back home," Harry told him.

She wasn't sure whether she was telling this to him or herself.

"Get closure or don't. I really don't care anymore."

And with that, Harry left Steve.

* * *

Author's Note:

Again, thank you guys for the positive response you've had for my story.

Although after that ending you might be mad. Oh well.

Also I realized I never made a disclaimer saying that I don't own Harry Potter or Marvel, however I thought it would have been obvious given the fact that I'm publishing this on a fanfiction site.

I don't own anything, I'm just a poor college student who is procrastinating.


	6. Chapter 5

Steve heard Harry slam the front door as she left, plunging his apartment into silence.

Steve stood where he was, paralyzed by his emotions.

He felt angry, betrayed, confused, hurt, guilt, tired.

Steve opened the filing cabinet once more in order to make sure the documents were put away properly. He saw the picture of Peggy – it was one that had been taken during World War II. She looked just like he remembered.

He closed the drawer, his anger causing him to slam it on accident.

Who did Harry think she was? What made her think she was allowed to go through his stuff?

Steve was furious at Harry. What she did was a major betrayal of trust. How could Steve ever trust her again if she thought it was okay to rifle through something so private?

He turned around, wanting to just get some sleep for once, when he spotted a black mass on the floor.

Harry had left her coat.

Steve must have missed it when he was cleaning up the food.

Steve marched over and picked it up from the floor. He felt like ripping it to shreds, however even in his anger he knew that wouldn't be a good idea.

He tossed it onto the couch, staring as it flopped lifelessly as it landed.

Steve really hated Harry. She was infuriating, more than Tony Stark, which surprised Steve; at least Stark had been able to set aside his ego to be a team player. Harry, on the other hand, was just arrogant.

Steve wanted to sleep but he was far too angry to relax. He changed into sweats and a white t-shirt, grabbed his boxing tape, and headed for the gym.

He needed to punch something.

It was three o'clock in the morning and while normally that would be a problem for most gym-goers, Steve was allowed access to a local gym during the night for his own personal use. SHIELD had helped get Steve the permission from the owner – though the owner didn't need to be persuaded too much since he was a fan of Captain America.

Steve was still angry by the time he was facing the punching bag, his hands taped. The silence of the gym was interrupted by the sounds of his fists hitting the bag. The last time he did this was when Fury had come in to recruit him for the Avengers.

And now a couple of weeks later Steve was back taking out his anger on the punching bag.

Because he couldn't take it out on Harry.

Steve knew that he was directing all of his anger onto what Harry did; and while he knew it wasn't fair for Harry he did it because it was easy.

Steve couldn't be angry at his friends for his current predicament. It was his choice to go down with the plane and Steve had heard about all the effort Howard and his friends had put into finding him. They had just been unlucky – after all, it was purely a lucky accident that had led to Steve's discovery.

Besides, Steve couldn't be angry at his friends who had died before he was ever discovered.

He also couldn't be angry at Peggy. He still loved Peggy, and he knew that she had also made an effort to find him. No, with regard to Peggy he was angry at himself. Steve had left Peggy when he went under – by all means Peggy should be angry at Steve.

And Steve couldn't be angry at SHIELD or any of the Avengers. SHIELD had found him in the ice and had done their best to get him accustomed to the present time. They were helping him and they were doing an alright job at it as well. And in regard to the other Avengers, they were heroes. The Avengers had proved to Steve that good people still exist in the present era. And while he and Stark had many arguments during their time together, fighting against the Chitauri had ensured that the two of them had said their goodbyes with respect for the other.

And so that left Harry. Harry confused the hell out of Steve. Harry, who was funny yet cynical, a good person yet dishonest.

Harry: who was arrogant, a hypocrite, and a liar.

Making her a scapegoat for his anger was easy because he didn't know her.

While Harry never told him an outright lie about herself, she had been only telling him half-truths. Her family life, her education, her job, her friends, every aspect about herself, Harry had only told him the basics, never bothering to go deeper in her explanations.

And it was the deeper explanation that Steve felt would make her seem more human. What he knew of her now seemed like some wildly constructed story that didn't explain why she acts the way she does.

And the way she acts is arrogant. Harry stood up to Agent Travers like she knew more than he did, not respecting his authority like was expected. She confessed that she had lost her job because she had argued with her superiors because they didn't respect her. Steve believed that respect is to be given automatically to people until they prove otherwise, and Harry was slowly drifting into the 'otherwise' territory. She had looked through his things without his permission, probably because she thought she was entitled to the information for some reason.

Steve threw a hard punch into the punching bag, causing it to fly off the support and hit the ground with a thud. The sound drew him out of his thoughts and he went to set up another punching bag, giving it a couple of gentle taps before getting back into the rhythm he had before.

Steve knew Harry was a hypocrite. She had confessed as much earlier when trying to get him to stop feeling guilty. She was a hypocrite and a coward. Who was she to berate Steve for being a coward when she wouldn't even contact her friends for help? Steve knew she had friends, she had mentioned their names on multiple occasions and she always talked about them like they were close. If they were so close, why hadn't she called for help?

Probably because she was arrogant.

So Steve directed all his anger towards Harry as he continued to punch the bag. All the anger he felt about his current situation – about being displaced in time, about Peggy and his long since dead friends, the anger he felt towards himself – he projected it onto Harry.

Because he knew Harry could take his anger without batting an eye.

Steve highly doubted that the woman who was able to get him to drink cake-flavored vodka would care if he vented all his anger at her.

Harry would probably find it funny.

And he hated her for that.

But most of all, Steve hated himself. Harry had been right, Steve was being a coward. He was being a coward by deflecting all his anger onto Harry, who had done nothing to him but try to get him to stop being depressed. He was a coward because he hadn't called Peggy. He was afraid to talk to her. Steve knew Peggy would have moved on by now and he didn't want to make her upset by coming back into her life after she had grieved for him.

He didn't want her to see him as he was; he didn't want to remind her of the future they once could have had. He didn't want to see her angry at him for leaving her behind.

Steve's punches became lax, the bag barely moving.

Steve had left his friends behind because at the time he thought he was saving them, though the more he thought about it the more he questioned if there was another way. Could he have saved everyone without freezing for decades?

The more he thought about it, the more he began to regret his decision, the more wary he was to speak to Peggy.

_Everyone's allowed to be a coward once in a while but not for this long._

Harry's words erupted in his mind, causing Steve to sigh.

She was right, of course. No one could be brave all the time.

Steve began to unwind the tape from around his hands. He wondered if Harry herself knew that from experience or if she had told a friend of hers the exact same thing. Either way it only made Steve more curious to who Harry actually was.

Steve put the punching bags back where he got them from, leaving the gym soon after. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon and Steve knew he was in for another long day at his SHIELD training.

He was still angry, though he wasn't sure whether it was at Harry or himself. He wondered if his anger would ever go away or if he would be like Dr. Banner for the rest of his life – a man who was always angry.

Regardless of his anger, he knew what he had to do.

Once back in his apartment Steve picked up his phone, punching in the number he had ingrained into his mind. His hand shook as he held the phone up to his ears, the ringing piercing through him, his stomach full of knots.

The phone kept ranging and Steve started to question whether he should have called at all when it happened.

"Hello?" a voice answered. Almost 70 years later and Steve could still recognize Peggy Carter's voice.

Steve's mind went blank, a pain settling into his heart. He had to remind himself to breathe. He started to stammer out a reply, only to realize that no sound was coming out from him.

"Is anyone there?" Peggy asked again, suspicion coloring her voice.

Peggy's voice was the greatest thing Steve had ever heard. Steve could hear how her voice had aged, and yet her voice was still so recognizable that Steve had difficulties comprehending how real it was.

"Hello," Steve finally stammered out, once again feeling flustered around Peggy. He was reminded of when he had first met Peggy, about how she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

There was silence on the other end causing Steve to worry. He knew calling Peggy was a bad idea – she obviously never wanted to hear from him again.

"Hello, Captain Rogers," Peggy finally said causing Steve's heart to clench. Was she using his formal title because she was angry at him? He would have thought so had he not heard the humor in her voice under her formal greeting.

"Hello, Agent Carter," he replied, unable to contain his smile as he said her name. He decided to use her title just to be on the safe side. He wasn't sure if she still went by Peggy or if she now went by Margaret.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" she asked and Steve could hear the smile in her voice.

"I'm an idiot," he confessed grinning like one. He had forgotten how much he loved Peggy during his self-appointed isolation from her.

"Yes, I thought that would have been apparent by now," she replied and Steve could see her lips twitch in that small smile of hers in his mind.

"I guess I'm a bit late for that date?" he asked jokingly. It was so much easier to make jokes about his situation when he was this happy.

"By about 66 years. But then again, who's counting," she answered nonchalantly, and Steve was surprised to hear how there was no anger or pain in her voice. Peggy had obviously grieved for him and was still willing to talk to him even after all the years he had been gone.

God he loves Peggy.

"And here I was thinking I was off by a couple of months," he replied back. He could hear Peggy give a quick laugh at his response, causing Steve's grin to widen and his heart to speed up and tighten at the same time.

"Do you think we can reschedule?" he asked casually, making sure he didn't start to laugh as well. He really wanted to see her again, to get to know her again, but he also didn't want to pressure her into anything she didn't want to do.

He had already caused her enough trouble as it was.

"I don't know, let me double check to make sure there are no planned alien attacks anytime soon," she told him and Steve could hear her rummaging around in the background as if she was looking for her day planner.

Steve started to laugh. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed and it would have caught him by surprise had he not been high on happiness.

Had the last time Steve laughed been with Bucky? Bucky, who had cracked some offhanded comment that caused Steve to laugh, but he couldn't remember what it had been about.

"Or planes in need of landing?" he asked once he got his laughter under control.

"Steve, I wouldn't count what you did as 'landing'– ah yes, I think I can fit you into my schedule this Saturday," Peggy said, cutting herself off from her retort to Steve's question.

"That sounds like a plan," Steve said, still in disbelief that she still wanted to see him, "I'll see you Saturday,"

"Steve, it's best not to make promises you can't keep," she told him, her voice stern but Steve could hear the sarcasm. She hung up after that and Steve was left smiling like an idiot.

* * *

The big perk to being one of the founders of SHIELD was that Peggy could still make orders and expect people to follow them; this was how Steve found himself outside Peggy's house Saturday morning after his plane ride on a SHIELD owned jet that was flown by a much more experienced pilot than Steve.

Peggy lived in Winchester, Hampshire, Uk, which was about a two hour drive from London. She lived in a small house with a nice garden out front, and she lived alone.

Steve stood outside her house, his heart pounding in his chest. He wore something casual and held a couple of white roses that he bought at a local flower shop on his way over.

He knocked on her door. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and felt knots in his stomach. Steve didn't think he had been this nervous since the day he received Dr. Erskine's Super Serum.

He wondered if it was too late to go to the bathroom.

The door opened at last to reveal Peggy Carter. Steve let out his breath, surprised.

She looked beautiful. Peggy Carter did not look like she was ninety-two years old; instead, she didn't look a day over 70. Her hair still hung around her face in relaxed waves, however instead of her hair being brown like he remembered it was now white in color.

Wrinkles covered her face; however they were the products of a lifetime of laughter and perseverance rather than years of anger and regret.

She stood straight, her posture not allowing her back to bend because of her age. While it was clear to Steve that Peggy would not be able to go out to do field work at her age, he was certain that she would still be able to hold a pistol steady and fire it with accuracy.

In short, Peggy was still as beautiful and amazing as Steve remembered her to be.

She gave Steve a smile when she saw him and walked closer so she could get a better look at him. When they were standing close enough, Peggy reached up and laid a hand on his cheek.

"You look older than I remember," Peggy told him as she studied his face. He gave her a sad smile.

"You don't," he responded, and he meant it too. Steve could still see the twenty-six year old Peggy when he looked into her eyes, as if the older Peggy was merely an illusion to hide her younger self.

"Flattery will get you nowhere Captain Rogers," she said sternly, though Steve saw the smile on her face and the twinkle in her eyes.

"I wasn't trying to flatter, Agent Carter. Just telling the truth," he replied, smiling.

Peggy gave him a jokingly unamused face before turning around.

"It's a good thing you finally showed up Steve, the tea was getting cold," she told him as she walked back into her house. Steve gave her a head start before following her inside.

They walked to the kitchen where a small table was set with tea and bread. When they were seated and the tea was served they delved into a conversation.

First came the small-talk: Peggy asked how the flight had been and Steve complimented her house. After a few minutes of light conversation they transitioned into stories.

Steve told Peggy about what it was like to wake up at the SHIELD base in Manhattan, and he told her about fighting against Loki and the Chitauri and about how grateful he was to have found others who were willing to fight with him.

In turn, Peggy told him everything he had missed. She told him of the immediate aftermath of his decision to go down with the plane, about how everyone grieved for him. She told him what happened to each member of the Howling Commandos, to Colonel Phillips, to Howard, and to herself.

She told him the good and the bad, never stopping for long enough to have Steve dwell on any guilt and remorse he had over leaving his friends behind.

She explained how the Commandos and the Colonel had good, long lives and did not hate him for his decision or had any regrets from their own actions. Steve was happy to hear about how his friends had gone on from the war to find peace, and he tried not to think about how much pain he had caused them before they were able to achieve it.

Then Peggy talked about Howard. She talked about his life-long effort to find Steve in the ice, about how he had found the Tesseract, and how he had slowly started to create his business until it was the best weapons manufacturing corporation in the world. Steve listened as Peggy talked about Howard and his wife, Maria, and about Tony.

Apparently Peggy is Tony's godmother, though the two haven't been in touch since Tony was a child. Steve smiled as she talked about Tony as a child; the stories would be good for blackmail against Stark if they ever got into another dispute.

Her stories about Tony led to the story about when she and Howard had their argument that had cost them their friendship. She confessed that not making amends with Howard before he died was one of the biggest regrets Peggy had.

Steve was saddened by what he had learned about Howard; the years after the war had hardened him and made him cynical – a complete change to how Steve remembered him – which caused Howard to turn to alcohol.

Steve was able to understand Tony a lot better after hearing the stories Peggy told him. Howard had been obsessed over trying to find Steve and had been too busy with his business to spend much time with Tony.

Steve now understood where Tony's animosity towards him came from – Tony having to compete for his father's attention against a Captain America would not have been an easy childhood to have, and it certainly explained his behavior as an adult. And while Steve felt sad and guilty over how Howard and Tony's relationship turned out, it didn't mean Steve wasn't going to bring up 'Oppenheimer Bear' the next time Tony acted like an asshole.

Then Peggy talked about herself; she told him about her career, the ups and downs, her triumphs and failings. She talked about her early retirement and about her family. She told stories of her nephew, and then about her grand-niece. She explained her involvement with SHIELD's founding and how she had been watching it grow ever since.

Steve was in awe of Peggy, of how much she had accomplished in her life.

"You are amazing," Steve said awestruck once she had finished talking.

"No need to point out the obvious," she replied, smiling over her cup of tea.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Peggy was done talking. Steve looked at Peggy in wonder unable to express just how proud he was of her accomplishments and how much love he felt for her.

"But it's true," he countered, still in awe.

"I'm just sad that I missed it all," he added after a moment, his face falling.

"I'm not," she told him, looking at him seriously.

"What?" Steve asked, his confusion knocking him out of the remorse he was beginning to feel.

"I'm not sad that you missed it," she told him sincerely. "There was a time when I was; when I wouldn't be able to do anything because I missed you and I was upset that you weren't around. But then I was able to grieve and I realized that, while I was sad, I did not regret your actions. You did the right thing and I was never angry at you even with the choice you made. You're a good man, Steve, and you did the right thing, even if you are questioning your actions now. It took time for me to move on, just as it will take time for you as well. And once I moved on, well, you heard my stories.

"Am I sad that we missed the opportunity to grow older together? To get married and start a family? Yes, I am sad about it; however, given the choice I don't think I would choose any other life but the one I've lived. The experiences I had during the war with you and after the war without you shaped me into who I am; and I don't want to change who I am, what I've been through, so that I could see if you and I would even have a happily ever after.

"I know that sounds harsh, but believe me when you're my age I am sure you will think the same. You'll grieve, you'll move on, and one day you'll realize that the life you're living is the one you've always wanted – after all, that's what happened to me and I highly doubt you'll be much different.

"So now, I don't want your regrets, or your apologies, or you to be sad. What I want now is for you to be happy," and with that said, Peggy took a sip from her tea, her face set in a serene expression.

Steve sat in silence, his mind comprehending the words Peggy told him. He didn't know what to think; he still felt angry about his situation, still felt remorseful over how his decision had affected his friends, he still felt regret.

And yet he could see how happy Peggy was, how much she had accomplished in her life; and although he was sad he wasn't there by her side to see her accomplishments in person, he was happy and proud of all she had done while on her own.

Steve still believes he is never going to be happy again, yet Peggy has faith that he will one day find peace.

And if Steve is being honest with himself, Peggy's opinion had always meant more to him than his own.

So he nodded his head, not entirely sure if he believed what Peggy said but also not trusting himself to speak.

"Good," Peggy said, placing her tea cup on the table, "now how about we go get something to eat? I'm starving."

Steve and Peggy left her house arm-in-arm, walking a couple of blocks to a local café. Steve noticed as they walked that Peggy leaned on Steve for support, the only real sign Steve noticed of her being her ninety-two years old.

They discussed trivial things on the way to the café and had ordered their food before Peggy asked Steve a question.

"So, Steve, have you made any friends yet?" she asked, looking at him with a knowing glint in her eyes.

Steve was taken aback by the question not entirely sure how to respond.

On the one hand he could say that he was friends with his fellow Avengers – after all people don't fight a horde of aliens without establishing some form of friendship along the way. Yet he hadn't spoken to any of them since the day Thor and Loki went back to Asgard. Steve saw the other Avengers like he would a really good study group for school: they were formed with a specific goal in mind but now that they had achieved their goal they had no reason to talk to each other anymore.

So they weren't really his friends.

And despite all the time spent around SHIELD agents he hadn't made a friendly connection with any of them. The agents he was in direct contact with were there to make sure he was up-to-date on all things technological and historical – they were more like his teachers than they were his friends.

So that left Harry.

"I think I have one, but it's complicated," he replied after his minute of contemplation.

"How complicated?" Peggy asked. Steve gave her a self-deprecating smile before answering.

"Complicated as in the last time we talked she ended up yelling at me and called me a coward before storming out of my apartment," Steve explained casually, watching Peggy for her reaction.

Her eyebrows rose in response to his answer but they relaxed as a smirk crossed her lips.

"What's her name?" she asked looking expectantly at Steve.

"Harriet Peverell," Steve answered, "but she prefers to be called Harry."

Peggy hummed in acknowledgement. She smiled at Steve as though she knew a secret he didn't.

"And what is Ms. Peverell like?" she asked him as she tilted her head to the side.

Steve's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, not understanding why Peggy would be interested. Steve hadn't thought about Harry since before he called Peggy and he wasn't sure whether or not he was still mad at her.

Steve was about to try and get Peggy to change the subject back onto herself but he noticed how tired she looked. He realized that talking for as long as she did was probably more taxing than she let on.

"Well, she's arrogant, a hypocrite, and lies about everything she says," Steve began to say expecting his anger to come back, however it didn't make an appearance.

Steve was no longer mad at Harry, then.

"But she's also understanding, sarcastic, and a good person," Steve continued. He felt like he had accurately summed up Harry's personality, both the good and the bad.

Peggy smiled at Steve's answer before taking a sip from her water.

"Is she pretty?" she asked, her eyes twinkling in mischief as she placed her glass back down on the table.

Steve felt his mind come to a halt, honestly surprised by Peggy's question.

How could Steve contemplate anyone else's beauty when the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on was sitting across from him at the present moment?

"I don't know," Steve replied honestly, his brain still trying to associate the word 'pretty' with Harry.

Harry wasn't in any sense a conventional beauty. Her hair was always a mess, her skin was cracked dry and riddled with scars, and she wore baggy clothes that were falling apart at the seams. Harry looked nothing like the women in movies or magazines, and she definitely fell short of being as beautiful as Peggy had been when she was in her twenties.

"She has really nice eyes," Steve said in way of answer. He had blurted it out without thinking and he felt his face heat up.

"They're really green," he said trying to explain. His face continued to feel hot and he felt like he didn't give proper justice to the color of her eyes. Peggy smirked at Steve, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"She's actually the one who's responsible for me getting my act together," Steve stated, trying to change the subject. "She only called me a coward because I hadn't called you."

Steve let the sentence drop, not wanting to continue down that train of thought.

"Did she now?" Peggy asked surprised, though Steve was also able to detect how relieved she sounded underneath her surprise.

"Yeah, she did. She told me that 'everyone's allowed to be a coward once in a while but not for this long.' Or something like that," Steve said trying to remember the exact words Harry had used, "needless to say I picked up the phone pretty soon after she told me that."

Peggy was quiet for a while after Steve's confession, their food arriving in their silence. Steve was just about to start eating when Peggy spoke up.

"I'll have to send her a 'thank you' card," she said before she started eating her meal causing Steve to smile.

* * *

They walked through the park after their late lunch, silently enjoying each other's company.

Peggy would sometimes point out interesting things about the flora in the park which would lead to her discussing her garden back at her house. Steve listened with rapt attention, just enjoying listening to Peggy's voice.

It was all ruined when Steve noticed a black and white something flying towards Peggy's head. His reflexes kicked in and he caught the soccer ball before it could hit her.

They stopped walking, Steve with the ball clenched in his hand, his other arm still supporting Peggy as they stood in surprise.

"Nice catch, Rogers," Peggy said looking at him with a humorous smile on her face. Steve mumbled his thanks to her, looking around to see where the ball had come from.

"SORRY ABOUT THAT!" a voice called out, and Steve looked over to see a young woman come running up towards them, her face conveying her embarrassment.

The woman had auburn hair, hazel eyes, and an athletic body that was accentuated by the clothes she wore. She looked to be around twenty years old.

"Oh my God, Ms. Carter, I am so sorry about that," she apologized as she jogged up to Steve and Peggy. Steve watched as Peggy smiled warmly at the girl.

"That's perfectly alright Rose," she said to her, "it's a good thing Steve was here."

Rose, the woman, looked at Steve for the first time since coming over and he watched as she did a double take.

"Rose, I would like you to meet an old friend of mine, Captain Steve Rogers. Steve, I would like to introduce you to Rose Potter, one of my neighbors," Peggy introduced the two; Steve and Rose shook hands. He smiled warmly at Rose while she looked at him in shock.

"I thought you made those stories up," Rose said to Peggy, her accusation clear in her voice. Peggy smirked at Rose instead of replying.

"OI, ROSIE! GET THE BALL!" another voice called out and Steve looked over to see a group of teenage boys standing around looking in their direction.

"WAIT A BLOODY MINUTE JAMIE! I'M TALKING TO MS. CARTER!" Rose yelled back, causing one of the boys to flip her off; Steve assumed he was Jamie.

Peggy looked at Steve with sympathy.

"The famous Potter yell," Peggy told him as a way to explain what was happening. It didn't explain much except for the fact that Rose and the black-haired teen she was yelling at were siblings.

"Sorry about him," Rose said, turning back to Peggy and Steve. Her voice was clear, as if she hadn't just been yelling her head off at her brother.

"That's perfectly okay," Peggy said, laughing lightly at the situation, "I remember the two of you arguing all the time when I would babysit the pair of you. How's university?"

"It's uh," Rose started to answer the question but stopped half-way. "My team was first in the league last season, so there's that."

Rose was very proud of the fact, smiling as she said her accomplishment.

Steve had no idea what she was talking about.

"Congratulations," Peggy told her genuinely happy for Rose. "And how are your classes?"

Rose made a 'deer-in-the-headlights' face at Peggy's question before she shrugged her shoulders with a sheepish smile on her face.

"Yay communications major," Rose said sarcastically embarrassed.

The group of boys was making rude gestures in their direction, causing Rose to sigh.

"Can I get my football back?" Rose asked Steve looking at the soccer ball in his hand. Steve nodded before handing her the ball, watching as she took it and threw it with all her strength over at the boys.

The ball bounced right off the head of one of the boys, causing him to hit the ground hard.

"Nice throw," Steve told her causing Rose to blush red at the compliment.

"Thanks," she said happily before her face turned serious, "I should go and make sure I haven't given him a concussion."

"Yes, you should," Peggy said, amusement clear in her tone. "Make sure you say hello to your parents for me."

"I will Ms. Carter. Nice talking to you; and nice meeting you Captain," she told them before jogging back over to the group of boys, the one still on the ground.

Peggy led Steve away from the area and out of the park. When they were walking back to Peggy's house she spoke up.

"I used to babysit Rose and Jamie Potter when they were younger and their parents were too busy with their work. The Potters are a good family and great neighbors. Their father, James, is a member of the band The Marauders, which is comprised of himself and his three best friends. The other boys playing with Rose and Jamie are the sons of James's band mates. Their mother, Lily, is the one I've talked to the most. She is a cognitive scientist who has been researching how memories are formed and stored in the brain. Recently I've been able to persuade SHIELD to give her and her colleague a grant so they could continue their research."

"That was nice of you," Steve told Peggy, still confused by it all.

For some reason Rose reminded him of someone, but for the life of him he could not think of whom.

"They can be a bit much at times," Peggy conceded, mistaking his confusion for doubt. "I'm just disappointed that I won't see Jamie's face when he learns he made a fool of himself in front of his hero."

Steve smiled at Peggy's thought, though he had trouble imagining the event.

He was too preoccupied with wondering who Rose Potter reminded him of.

* * *

Later that night, Steve and Peggy finally were able to have their dance, though because of Peggy's age and Steve's lack of skill their dancing was really just swaying back and forth.

And even that Steve was able to mess up by accidentally stepping on her feet.

After that they retired to the living room where Peggy asked if Steve could draw something for her. When Steve asked what she wanted she asked if he could draw Harry.

He thought it was an odd request but he was happy to oblige.

Steve realized as he drew Harry that he wasn't going to be able to capture her likeness perfectly. For one thing he couldn't get her hair right because it always seemed to change every time he saw her. Another reason was because trying to draw Harry with all her scars was a shading nightmare and made the drawing look muddled.

"There," Steve presented Peggy his rendition fifteen minutes after her request, "just image her with a lot more scars."

Peggy looked at his drawing with a smile on her face.

"You are a wonderful artist," she told him with sincerity. Steve smiled at her compliment.

He always loved drawing; it was his favorite thing to do. It kept him calm and allowed him to express himself in ways he otherwise couldn't.

"It's okay to fall in love with another person," Peggy told him, seemingly out of nowhere. Steve looked at her with confusion written all over his face.

"What?" he asked her, not sure if he heard right the first time.

"I'm giving you permission to be able to fall in love with another person," Peggy reiterated, looking at Steve with a serious expression.

"I'm not – "Steve started to say his objections before Peggy cut him off.

"You'll move on with your life, and when that happens you'll fall in love with someone else. When you do I am telling you not to feel guilt because of your feelings," Peggy commanded, waiting for Steve to say he understood.

"Why are you telling me this?" Steve asked. He started to get worried.

"Because I wish I had someone had told me that when I was younger. It would have saved me the countless hours of guilt I had felt over loving another after you had left."

Steve felt guilt himself at Peggy's confession – the last thing he wanted was to have caused her any pain.

"I'm sorry," Steve said.

He found that he didn't mind that Peggy had dated other men when he was frozen. She had moved on and it was her life and Steve was happy she had found happiness and love with others.

"Thank you," he continued, genuinely meaning it. He highly doubted that he would ever fall in love again, however Peggy's concern for his emotional wellbeing meant a lot to him.

Peggy leaned over and gave Steve a kiss on the cheek.

"I believe it's time for bed," she told him.

Steve couldn't have agreed more.

* * *

Steve was dreaming about the pub he frequented during World War II. It was the pub he had gathered the Howling Commandos in, the pub where Peggy had walked in wearing her beautiful red dress, the pub that had been bombed after Bucky's death.

The pub in his dream was in pristine condition, the same as it had been the first time he had gathered the Commandos together. He was at the bar waiting for drinks but he couldn't remember who they were for.

"What do you think they're talking about?"

Steve looked over to see Bucky lean against the bar, his question hanging in the air. Bucky looked exactly like Steve remembered him to – black hair, smirking grin, wearing his army uniform.

Bucky was looking across the room and Steve followed his line of sight to see Peggy.

She was twenty-six again, red dress and poise and class.

She was beautiful.

Peggy was talking with someone, her eyes twinkling with mischief, her face trying to contain her laughter.

Steve looked at who she was talking to, feeling surprise when he saw it was Harry.

Peggy and Harry were talking and enjoying the other's company.

"Whatever it is, it doesn't bode well for us," Steve said, answering Bucky's question. Bucky snorted in amusement at Steve's respond, and they watched as Peggy and Harry's conversation was interrupted by the young Howard Stark.

Steve saw Harry roll her eyes before getting up from her chair and saying her goodbyes to Peggy. As Harry made her way over to the bar, Howard and Colonel Philips and the Commandos came over to Peggy and sat down with her, much to Peggy's amusement.

"What's a girl gotta do to get a whiskey in this place?" Harry asked once she was at the bar, her hands drumming a quick beat before stopping.

"I can think of a thing or two," Bucky answered without missing a beat, causing Harry to flip him off.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Steve asked suddenly, his eyes still transfixed on Peggy and the others.

Harry and Bucky looked over at the group before looking back at Steve.

"Oh yeah, she'll be fine," Bucky said, nodding his head.

"She'll be great," Harry agreed, tipping a bottle of whiskey she had somehow acquired towards Steve. "It's us you have to be worried about," she continued, motioning to herself and Bucky before taking a drink.

"Are you guys coming or what?"

Steve looked over to see Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers standing by the exit in their full battle gear – though Tony was without his Ironman suit and Dr. Banner stood awkwardly to the side as though he wasn't sure if he was meant to be the Hulk or not.

Bucky looked over at Steve, clapping him on the shoulder, before making his way over towards Agents Romanoff and Barton, who greeted Bucky with smiles on their faces.

"Give me a minute," Steve called back to Tony, not wanting to take his eyes off of Peggy. Tony and Howard shared a look of understanding before Tony looked back at Steve.

"Take your time, Capsicle," Tony remarked, staying quiet after that.

"She's happy and at peace," Harry spoke up after a minute, looking at Peggy and the others with her.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked, his voice sounded small, like a child who was seeking comfort from the thunder.

"Oh yeah, most definitely," Harry said in response, handing Steve the bottle of whiskey.

He grabbed the bottle from Harry's hand before setting it down on the counter of the bar. He gave a sigh as he looked at Peggy one last time.

"I'm ready," he said at last, drawing his eyes away from Peggy and onto Harry. She gave him a smile before nodding her head.

Together they walked out of the bar.

* * *

Steve woke up feeling the most relaxed and rested he had ever felt. He couldn't remember what he had dreamt about, but he knew it had been a pleasant dream. He got out of bed noticing he had slept for over eight hours – a feat that was uncommon ever since he woke up from the ice.

He left the guest bedroom and made his way to the kitchen expecting to find Peggy there. The kitchen was empty.

He checked the living room, but that too was empty. He checked the garden, the bathroom, the basement – all were empty.

He stood outside Peggy's room feeling uneasy. He knocked on the door and waited for an answer. He tried again a minute later, his knocking louder.

Peggy didn't answer.

Steve opened the door and moved in, his eyes immediately drawn to her bed.

Peggy Carter had died in her sleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

Author's Note:

If you couldn't tell, this chapter is the longest chapter I have written for anything - it was also really hard for me to write.

As always thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 6

**June**

Harry was once again in the library. She had thoroughly exhausted herself with researching the possibilities of getting back home. She came to the conclusion that it would be physically impossible for her to return to her own world with the present technology and her magical knowhow.

So instead, Harry turned her attention to researching more about the Infinity Stones Schmidt was trying to get his hands on.

The whole reason why Schmidt wanted to travel to this universe was because there was a legend in her world about how the universes were created, and their creation revolved around the Infinity Stones. At least that's what Schmidt's colleague, Unspeakable Hubert Daniels, had told her. The US Department of Magic's Unspeakable Division had done research into the creation of the universe, which is what Schmidt and Daniels's research was aimed towards.

Apparently Schmidt got it into his head that if he acquired to Stones then he could be God. And if the Stones had the power to make someone into a god, then Harry was sure they could send her back to her own universe.

The Stones were her last attempt at finding a way back home, and so far she was finding no documents about their existence.

Instead she sat in the religion and astrology section of the library, reading books about meditation and astrology and chakras and god and witchcraft.

Harry never took divination while at Hogwarts – Hermione had insisted Harry take Ancient Runes with her instead and Harry ended up caving – but she assumed it had about as much truth to it as what she was reading now.

She sat on the floor, her back against the bookshelf, reading about how one would go about performing magic in this world instead of continuing her research. It was complete bullshit but she was having fun nevertheless.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up from her book to see Steve standing over her. She felt herself give him a deer-in-the-headlights look, not sure how he found her.

It had been a couple of weeks since she had last seen him and she wasn't sure where they stood with each other. The last time she had seen him she had stormed out of his apartment after yelling at him and going through his personal stuff.

They had not departed on good terms last time.

Harry gave Steve a small wave, though she wondered why he was there. Her silent query was answered when he held up her coat for her to see.

So that's where she had left it.

"Oh," Harry whispered, standing up after sliding the book back into its place on the shelf behind her. She had left her coat at his apartment and hadn't wanted to go back and get it. It's not like she actually needed it on account of it being summer time, however after years of being in the wizarding world she felt naked without wearing some form of her cloak.

She grabbed her coat from Steve and put it on, giving Steve a smile in appreciation.

"Do you want to talk outside?" Steve asked in a whisper. Harry felt thrown by the question, not sure why he would ask. She was about to object before she realized that she had just been reading about how one could use poetry to curse their enemies and not researching like she should have been.

So she nodded her consent and the two walked out of the library. They found a place to sit in the park outside and sat in awkward silence.

"I'm sorry –"

"Thank you –"

They spoke at the same time, stopping once they realized the other was talking as well. Harry looked at Steve questioningly, not understanding why he would want to thank her. In Steve's silence Harry snatched the opportunity to say what she had to say first.

"I'm sorry I looked at the files without your permission," Harry stated sincerely, "and that I also yelled at you. Sorry about that."

Harry watched as Steve gave a small smile, nodding his head at her words.

"No need to apologize," he told her, "I actually wanted to thank you. If you hadn't done that then I wouldn't have been able to talk to Peggy; so thank you."

Although it wasn't noticeable, Harry heard Steve's voice break when he said 'Peggy.'

"So you talked to Agent Carter then?" she asked, voice showing her surprise and happiness at his decision.

"Yeah, I even got to see her before she died," he said with forced happiness. Harry's smile fell.

"I'm sorry for your lose," she told him; he smiled self-deprecatingly at her words.

"So am I, but I'm trying to move on," he replied.

Steve sounded like Harry had right after Sirius died. At fifteen she had also tried to put on a happy face and move on with her life because that's what Sirius would have wanted, except it wasn't easy and it wasn't a fast mourning process and she still missed Sirius some nights.

"That's always a good idea," she said, going along with his act.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry could see that Steve was the type to isolate himself during his grieving process and that he'd need motivation to go out and do something.

"Do you want to go see a movie?" Harry asked him, knowing that the best way to stop grieving is to keep living.

Harry watched as Steve thought about it.

"Do you know anything that's playing?" he asked, and Harry silently celebrated because it meant he was willing to be with other people.

"I think there's a movie about a panda or something? I don't know but apparently it's animated and I know how much you like to draw," she said still not entirely sure if she had her information right. As of now she was going off of billboards and there were a few that advertised a movie with a cartoon panda.

She had absolutely no idea what it was about but anything to keep Steve out of grief-induced isolation.

"Sure, let's go."

**July**

"Have you seen any of these?" Harry asked as she went through Steve's DVD collection.

It was the middle of July and Harry was at Steve's apartment so they could celebrate their birthdays together. Steve had been working on his birthday and he was scheduled for another mission at the end of the month, so they decided to kill two birds with one stone and have one party to celebrate both of their birthdays.

Steve had turned twenty-seven and Harry was going to turn twenty-one.

They had ordered pizza, Harry bought a small cake, and they brought out the six-pack of beers that was left over from the last time Harry had been at Steve's apartment.

"Anything that was made before 1945 I've seen, but the others I haven't gotten around to watching," Steve said as he tried to figure out how to work the DVD player.

Harry looked through the DVDs he had, gifts given to Steve by the agents of SHIELD who had been tasked with bringing Steve up-to-date on current affairs. She didn't recognize any of the titles outside of the Monty Python movies, which were also very popular in her own universe – though she hadn't seen any of them herself.

She also saw he had 'Wizard of Oz,' which she also hadn't seen due to the Dursley's hating anything having to do with wizards and magic and fun.

Steve gave a celebratory 'yes,' and Harry looked over to see he had the DVD player turned on and ready to use. As a reward she handed Steve the DVDs she was looking through so he could pick one, and went to drink her beer.

"What am I supposed to do?" Steve asked looking at the stack of movies she had handed him.

"Pick something," she told him, rolling her eyes.

Steve shuffled through the movies, stopping once he found an animated one.

Harry and Steve sat down on the couch, pizza in hand, beers within reach, and watched 'Mulan.'

**August**

Harry's research had come to a dead end and she was getting angry at everything and everyone, including herself.

Steve had been out on a mission for SHIELD so she was left alone, slowly spiraling downward into depression because she was finally realizing she would never be able to go home.

She'd never see her friends again, or her godson Teddy, or another quidditch match.

Harry found an abandoned building and set up a quick ward so that no one would bother her.

Once inside, Harry let loose.

She flung spells and curses at the walls, produced magical fire from her hands and cracked it around like a whip, made magical targets that she obliterated with jinxes and curses.

She had three months of pent up anger and magic that she had to release before it started to consume her.

Harry built up a sweat as she let her magic out, and she didn't stop casting until she felt magically exhausted.

When Harry was eleven years old and went to get a wand from Ollivander he told her that, because of her bracelets, she could not use a wand. He had explained that both a wand and a witch or wizard have innate magic that, when paired correctly, merge together to create a channel that allows a wizard or witch to produce spells and magic. By using a wand, a witch or wizard's magic is able to flow from an area of high magical concentration to an area of low magical concentration with ease – much like how water behaves.

Ollivander told Harry that with her bracelets she was in effect her own wand – her bracelets acting as the wand wood and she as the core. It meant that there was no intermediary necessary for her magic to travel through resulting in her magic coming to her and responding to her will much easier than if she used a wand.

However, it also meant that there was nothing stopping Harry from becoming magically exhausted. A wand will stop working as soon as it detects that a witch or wizard's magic is depleting, much like how water knows when equilibrium has been reached. In Harry's case, though, there was nothing stopping her from using up all her magical energy except herself.

It's one of the main reasons why the wizarding world prefers using wands as opposed to other forms of magical-foci.

Harry remembered how worried she had been when Ollivander explained it all to her. She had asked if it meant she was unable to go to Hogwarts because she couldn't use a wand. Ollivander had thought it over and had given her a hollow stick of yew that he had planned on using for a wand; he told her that if she focused her spells through the stick then she could fool everyone into thinking it was her wand. All he had asked for in return was that she'd visit and tell him how her magic compared to her peers.

Harry collapsed to her knees after three hours of letting go of her magic. Her body was covered in sweat and she started to feel like she was sick with the flu.

She laid down on the ground, breathing heavily as her heart pounded away in her chest.

Harry no longer felt angry or depressed – instead she just felt tired.

She felt tears streaming from her eyes and down her face, mixing in with her sweat.

For the first time in years, Harry cried herself to sleep.

**September**

Harry answered an ad that called for a 'roommate needed' and found herself a place to live.

Harry got a job as a librarian at a public school in Harlem.

Harry bought a cell phone and a new wardrobe.

She was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she would never be able to go home ever again.

The next time Steve was on a break from working with SHIELD Harry came over to his apartment and broke out the whiskey they had bought all those months ago.

Harry got drunk to the point of melancholy, and she started to tell Steve about her friends.

About how Hermione was the smartest girl at their school and about how annoying she had been when they had first met and how she grew into a trouble maker along with Harry and the others and how she would protest for the rights of everyone and she believed in equality so much that she got a job defending the powerless instead of actively pursuing academia like everyone expected.

About how Ron was hilarious and the best chess player Harry had ever seen and how he lacked tact and was so insecure with himself that he didn't think Hermione would ever love him even though he was the only one she ever wanted to date ever and how did it take them seven years to finally kiss that was seven years of sexual tension Harry had to endure Steve do you understand?!

She told Steve about how she and Neville met at the park when they were ten because Neville's grandmother finally thought it was time for Neville to interact with kids his own age except he ended up getting bullied and Harry went over and punched the bully right in the face and how she got into so much trouble from the adults but Neville came over to her afterward and gave her a lemon popsicle in thanks and they didn't speak again until a year later when they saw each other on the first day of school and how they became as close as siblings from then on.

She talked about Ginny and about how Harry had met her when she stayed with the Weasleys during the summer after her first year of school and how they grew close over the years and how Ginny was a fantastic athlete who went on to play professionally and how Ginny was like her right-hand woman and that they made a pact with each other that if they weren't married by the time they were thirty that they would just marry each other and adopt a couple of dogs and cats and just be awesome together.

And she told Steve about Luna who Harry had met through Ginny and how Harry had grown to see Luna as a friend because at first Luna seems really odd because she'll talk about creatures that don't exist but as soon as you start to listen to her she's really insightful and full of wisdom and is probably smarter than Hermione and is just as brave and is so forgiving and understanding and unique.

Steve listened to Harry's drunken rambling with a smile on his face, happy that Harry was finally starting to open up about her personal life, though he could tell that he was still missing a major piece of information from Harry.

And he asked where they were now, why she wasn't with them.

And Harry looked him in the eyes with a face full of grief and remorse and despair and told him:

"They're not here."

**October**

On Halloween Harry allowed herself a bit of fun.

The school she worked at allowed both faculty and students to dress up in costume on Halloween.

Harry went as a witch.

She took her coat and changed it back into her cloak, a form it had not taken since May. She slipped it on, took out her yew 'wand' and put it behind her ear like Luna would, and let her hair remain out of the bun she normally kept it in.

She walked into the school's library with a smirk on her face and a mischievous glint in her eyes, her hair surrounding her face like a lion's mane.

It was time to make the Marauders proud.

The fun started before school when a couple of students came in to hang-out before classes began. Five minutes before the bell rang, the lights turned off, the doors slammed shut, and the students inside watched as books started to dance around the library before returning to their shelves where they went back to being lifeless.

The dancing books only happened for a minute, and once they were done the lights came back on and the doors opened once more.

Harry had come out of her office to see the students going mental, talking loudly about what they had witnessed and investigating to see how it was done. When some of the students asked Harry about what had happened she just looked at them oddly and told them that nothing had happened and that they were imagining things.

It was a cruel thing to do to the students but Harry could see they didn't believe her – she didn't know whether to be happy with their observational skills or scared that they would try and find out the truth.

In the end Harry realized she didn't really care what the students did – all she cared about was making sure they had fun.

After that the library became very popular.

Randomly throughout the rest of the day Harry would continue to prank the students with her magic.

Her favorite thing to do was to take the books that the students brought back and have them levitate back to their proper place in the library. She watched as students went wide-eyed at the display, watching the books rather than concentrate on their work.

She also made the pictures in the books move and she watched with glee as the students freaked out when they finally realized what was happening.

She also animated some of the motivational posters around the library and she would see groups of students throughout the day just staring at the posters waiting for the pictures to move. She always smirked at the students who did that because they didn't realize the posters were shy and would only move when no one was looking.

Of course Harry was very careful to make sure it was only the students who experienced any magical happenstances. Whenever a teacher or a fellow faculty member walked in Harry made sure that nothing magical was happening.

Harry knew from experience that teachers would not believe their student's outlandish stories no matter how true they are.

Adults rarely listen to teenagers, after all.

And so Harry watched as the students experienced magic and the adults were oblivious to it.

And when students came up to Harry asking what was happening and how any of it was possible, Harry would look them in the eye and say:

"The spirits enjoy spending time in the library just as much as you do – Happy Halloween."

**November **

Harry had her first Thanksgiving with Steve.

It was a simple affair. Neither one of them really knew how to cook, so they spent the day trying not to ruin the food they were making.

They mainly consulted cooking instructions from the internet since neither one of them owned a cook book. They decided to make chicken instead of turkey on account of the fact that two people eating an entire turkey is a bit much, even with Steve's metabolism.

They had the TV playing in the background not really watching it as they cooked. Steve kept asking what Black Friday was and all Harry could do was shrug her shoulders because she didn't know either.

Their food turned out edible, much to their relief, and they sat and watched the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Day special as they ate.

They spent the rest of the evening watching Disney movies and joking around.

The night ended with the two of them falling asleep on the couch, leaning against each other as they slept.

**December**

Harry pounded on Steve's door, waiting for him to answer.

Some fucked up shit was happening.

Steve opened the door, his face a mixture of shock and anger. Harry slipped around Steve and into his apartment, walking immediately into the living room.

'Attack on Stark Malibu Home' was the headline on the news and Harry watched as the news kept playing the same footage over and over again of the missiles slamming into Stark's house.

'Tony Stark Dead' was another headline the news was going with. Harry grimaced at the tact the news was showing.

"God damn it Stark," Steve said over Harry's shoulder. Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise; Steve must be really devastated if he's breaking out that curse.

They watched the news for the rest of the day, listening to the news talk about the Mandarin and about Tony Stark and they kept playing the footage over and over again.

Harry knew that she and Steve were in shock. Steve's eyes were unfocused as he watched the news, and Harry watched the coverage getting more and more enraged as it unfolded.

Harry lasted until nightfall before she turned off the TV and put in a movie for the two of them to watch.

'Beauty and the Beast' played on in the background as Steve and Harry tried to comprehend what they had learned from the news.

Not even two days had passed before news broke out that Tony Stark was in fact alive and had used his supposed death to save the President from a secret terrorist organization.

"God damn it Stark," Steve said once again as Tony Stark's very alive image was played on the news.

Harry hummed in agreement.

**January**

Harry hadn't realized how popular the library had become until she came back from Winter Break to a very full library.

Apparently the students liked her.

Maybe it was because of Halloween, or maybe it was because she treated them like people instead of teenagers – either way she had amassed a following of students who would hang out at the library because she was there.

And while the amount of students caused the library to be far from quiet, she found it was pretty fun to get to know the kids who attended the school she worked for.

It got to the point where Harry spent most of her time keeping the library in order or interacting with the students rather than researching the Infinity Stones like she told herself she would when she accepted the job.

Harry found that she didn't mind the change in her priorities.

**February**

_"You're friends are fucking insane"_ Harry texted Steve.

She was at work surrounded by a bunch of students who were watching the live news coverage that Harry had projected up onto the library's projector screen.

London was being visited by aliens and Thor, God of Thunder, was saving the day.

Steve didn't answer – too busy on a mission to check his phone – and so Harry continued to watch as the attack unfolded.

"Well fuck," she said out loud, making some of the students closest to her laugh out of surprise.

Merlin, this universe is insane.

**March**

_"I'm back. Do you want to hang out?"_

Harry received the text from Steve during work. Checking to make sure none of her students were watching, she texted back.

_"I'm at work right now. How's later? I can be there around 5. Want me to bring anything?" _

A few minutes passed before he responded.

_"That's fine. And you don't need to bring anything." _

Harry felt like something was off about the text but she didn't put too much thought into it.

Harry hadn't seen Steve since Christmas, he had been away on a long mission since the beginning of the year and Harry had started to really miss his company.

When five o'clock rolled around Harry made her way over to Steve's apartment. She was feeling happy for once and was excited to see Steve again.

She knocked on the door with a happy rhythm, waiting for Steve to answer.

So she was pretty surprised when Nick Fury answered the door instead.

* * *

Author's Note:

I hope you all know that you are insane. I am shocked over the amount of reviews I received from the last chapter - seriously that is the most reviews of anything I have ever gotten in my life.

I cannot thank you all enough for all the love and support you have given my story. So thank you a million times over.

As you can probably guess this chapter was mainly filler. The next chapter is when the plot begins to pick up.

Also can we just bask in the glory that is the new "Captain America: Winter Soldier" trailer? Also can we all forget the fact that I had described Bucky with black hair even though he has brown hair? Because that would be super.

Anyway, thanks again!


	8. Chapter 7

Harry had met Nick Fury in her world. He was the head of the Auror Department for the US Department of Magic. He had a wand made of vine and bared a strikingly similar appearance to the Fury who stood before her now, except instead of an eye-patch her world's Fury had a magical eye that was extremely reminiscent of Mad-Eye Moody's.

Except Fury's eye had fit his face better.

Harry had met Auror Nick Fury as an auror herself. Schmidt, who had been wanted by the US Department of Magic for conspiracy, had travelled to the UK for unknown reasons. Fury had personally gone to the Ministry of Magic in order to get help from the British Auror Department to apprehend Schmidt.

Fury had had a solid plan that should have guaranteed Schmidt's arrest; however Harry had terrible colleagues and instead of an arrest there was a murder and Harry was indefinitely suspended for something she didn't do.

Had she argued with her superiors on a daily basis? Yes, she did, because they were terrible at their jobs and had only gotten them because they had tenure – something that was important to have after the war.

But was it her actions that led to Auror Timothy Milton's death? No, Harry had done exactly as Fury had planned – it was her colleague that messed everything up.

And yet she was the one who had been suspended.

The day of her suspension, Neville had come over with a bottle of firewhiskey and Harry proceeded to get black-out drunk; it was a decision she regretted the next morning when Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt and Auror Nick Fury visited her home at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

Harry had listened to Fury's request while painfully hung-over and had accepted his offer without thinking about it.

Fury wanted Harry to investigate Schmidt on her own, with no backup from anyone except Fury himself; he told her that if she was able to apprehend Schmidt then she would have a guaranteed job with the US Auror Department.

Suffice it to say, Harry did not get the job.

"You're not Steve," she said, looking Fury in the face.

He was unamused.

"Miss Peverell, I think it's time we had a talk," Fury said, his tone cold and commanding. He stepped aside from the door and motioned for Harry to come in.

Harry had several options: she could leave, she could enter, or she could stay where she was.

She quickly weighed the pros and cons in her mind before deciding that talking with Fury would be the option that would least likely get her killed by the angry Director of SHIELD.

Harry entered Steve's apartment and walked over to the dining table at Fury's silent gesture. He made her walk in front of him, an action Harry was all too aware of.

It told her several things about Fury.

One thing she learned was that he thought himself to be the one in charge. She would allow him the power until she had reason to rebel from his commands. As of now it looked as though Fury just wanted to talk and Harry was willing to hear what he had to say.

Another fact learned about Fury was that he didn't trust her. By making Harry walk in front of him, Fury was able to keep an eye on everything Harry did. She couldn't blame Fury for this line of action – she had employed the same tactic many times throughout her life.

They arrived at the table, Harry at one end and Fury at the other. She noticed that there was a closed briefcase on the table, no doubt put there by Fury himself – he had obviously planned all of this before Harry even arrived.

Fury stared at her, his one good eye observing her and categorizing how much of a possible threat she was. Harry felt herself straighten under his gaze; she didn't want him to get the impression that she was a meek little girl he could manipulate into doing his bidding.

Even though she respected her own universe's Nick Fury, it did not mean the Nick Fury in front of her had gained her respect automatically through association.

Respect was earned, not given.

"Have a seat," he told her, the command hidden under a false tone of politeness.

Harry wanted to disobey, if only to see what he would do.

She was worried about what he wanted to talk about. She was afraid SHIELD had found out about her and this was their way of capturing her and shipping her off to be dissected in a lab somewhere. She was afraid what the people in this universe would do once they learned that magic was a possibility.

And she was angry that her happiness over the thought of seeing Steve had been created over a fake text.

But she sat down anyway, knowing that it was better to go along with what Fury wanted now so she could get a better understanding of what SHIELD knew.

Besides, it's not like she couldn't just use magic to escape if they tried to capture her – by then her secret would already be out and she could just live as an outlaw for the rest of her life.

"Miss Peverell, do you know who I am?" Fury asked; he hadn't sat down at the table, choosing to stand above Harry.

Harry scowled at Fury.

"I'm guessing you work for SHIELD," Harry answered, nodding to the briefcase that had the SHIELD logo engraved on it. Fury was unimpressed.

"I am Director Fury – basically I am SHIELD," he told her, his voice never changing from his hard tone, though Harry could hear a note of pride in his voice.

"That's unfortunate," Harry replied watching for any sign of wounded pride from Fury; he was still as severe as ever.

Fury reached over and pulled the briefcase over to himself, opening it in front of Harry.

"Do you know why I want to talk to you, Peverell?" he asked as he looked at the contents of the case. Fury dropping the 'Miss' to her name was not lost on Harry.

"I don't know," she said honestly, though her mind was racing through all the possible reasons.

Fury gave her a look that suggested he didn't believe her before pulling out a document from the briefcase.

"You've caught our interest, Peverell. Do you know what happens to people who catch our interest?" he asked in a menacingly rhetorical tone.

"Do we go out for a couple of pints and commiserate about life?" Harry asked sarcastically; she was beginning to get tired of Fury's melodramatics.

He gave her a look that was a cross between anger and disbelief over the fact that this was his life.

Instead of replying to Harry he started to read off the document:

"Harriet Rose Peverell. Born July 31, 1990. Parents are James Arthur Peverell and Lily Molly Peverell née Granger – both deceased. You share an apartment with one Lynda Coffman and you work as a librarian for a public school in Harlem; before that you lived on the streets. You were in the hospital after being hit by a car, only to leave less than twenty-four hours after the crash with nothing but a few bruises and cuts. You were one of the volunteers who helped clean up Manhattan and you are also on record for helping to apprehend Rita Skeeter where you were gifted a thousand dollars as a reward. You are also on record for having returned the money you received from SHIELD to remain silent about Captain Steve Rogers in exchange for your reward."

He tossed the document down onto the table and stared at Harry in an intimidating manner.

Or what Harry assumed was supposed to be intimidating – she would have been intimidated by Fury had she not: 1) been petrified by a basilisk when she was twelve years old, and 2) told Voldemort that he could 'fuck off' right to his face.

"Do you know what that tells me?" Fury asked her, nodding down to the document while not taking his eye off of her.

Harry shook her head instead of replying. She had an inkling about what Fury was trying to say, though – if she had the same amount of information about a suspect as Fury had on her, then Harry too would be demanding answers.

Fury eyed her critically before picking up another document from the case.

"I had some of my agents interview your colleagues and the students from your work, along with your roommate and other people you have interacted with. Do you know what they told my agents?" Fury asked, his tone challenging.

Harry's heart began to race as she stared at Fury. She knew that her roommate didn't know anything about her since they barely said more than two words to each other on any given day. She also knew that any random person she made contact with wouldn't know a thing about her – much less her colleagues, whom Harry rarely interacted with outside of her job duties.

However, if any student had talked about Halloween to an agent then Harry was screwed.

"Did they wax poetic about how amazing I am?" she asked, hoping her worry didn't appear on her face.

He gave her a look that suggested to Harry that Fury had perfected his 'Everyone in the world is an idiot besides me why am I even talking to you' look.

"No. What they did say, though, was about how unremarkable you are – how ordinary and mundane you are. The only people who gave us any information about you were the students at the high school you work for. They were quick to tell my agents about how much they like you and how 'cool' you are, however my agents were detecting that they were hiding something about you – do you know what they were hiding?"

Harry tried to contain her surprise at Fury's confession. The students had kept quiet about Halloween. They kept quiet about a weird and unexplained event to the very agents who had dealt with the alien attacks and superheroes.

Harry felt gratitude and humbled by their actions – she hadn't realized just how loyal her students were to her. She was reminded of her peers at Hogwarts during her final year at school, during the war, and Harry suddenly felt homesick.

"Were they hiding the fact that sometimes I bring in pizza and let them watch movies on the projector screen instead of keeping the library quiet? Because that has happened before," Harry confessed, thinking about the day after the incident in London when Harry had brought in pizzas for a late celebration over Thor saving her home city.

Fury was unimpressed.

He placed his hands down on the table and leaned in towards Harry, his stance imposing and threatening.

"Do you know what's wrong with you? You have no history – no documents, no school records, no evidence of your existence before your hospital visit. Everything about your past is a construct. There is no documentation of a James or Lily Peverell ever having existed, nor is there any documentation of a Harriet Peverell having ever existed.

"You are mundane enough where people don't question who you are, yet you are special enough to have gained the entire student population's collective respect where they have all decided to cover for you instead of telling the truth.

"The only thing I know about you for sure, Peverell, is that you are a liar. That better change in the next five seconds or else we might have to continue our conversation to somewhere a bit more appropriate."

Fury's threat was not lost on Harry – if she wouldn't comply with Fury's interrogation then Fury would not hesitate to torture her for answers.

Harry felt her eyes narrow as her resolve grew – Fury could bugger off.

"Who are you working for?" Fury demanded, not giving Harry time to make a response.

Harry felt confusion spring up over his question – he knew who she worked for.

"I work for the Harlem school –"

"No, who do you really work for?" Fury cut Harry off, glaring at her.

"I don't know what – "Harry tried again, feeling her face contort with her confusion.

"Who. Do. You. Work. For. Peverell?" he enunciated each word with a dangerous tone.

Harry suddenly realized what he was asking.

"Do you think I'm a spy or something?" Harry asked, her disbelief coloring her voice. While Harry could see where Fury had gotten the idea from, the fact that Harry could ever be a spy was laughable.

She was a fighter, not a spy.

Fury continued to glare at Harry, and Harry could see that yes, he did think she was a spy or something. Harry started to laugh in disbelief.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, her laughter still in her voice.

"Do I look like I'm one to kid around Peverell?" Fury asked. Harry knew it was a rhetorical question but, yes he did.

"Who do you work for? Is it HYDRA? AIM? The Clairvoyant?"

Fury's eye never left her face. He wanted to see her lie.

Harry shook her head in shock. She knew about HYDRA from Steve, and the Stark incident during Christmas time involved an AIM, but she had no idea who the last thing was.

"What the bloody hell is the Clairvoyant?" she asked, her voice conveying her disbelief and confusion.

Fury stood up straight once more, and Harry could see him staring at her with a critical gaze.

They regarded each other for a few minutes in silence. Harry hadn't bothered to try to dissuade Fury from his theory about her – Harry was a really bad liar and she knew that Fury could tell she wasn't spy material. Or at least she hoped he could – a paranoid Fury who saw spies everywhere was not someone she wanted to interact with.

Fury ignored her question.

"What are your intentions with Captain Rogers?" he asked instead, sounding like an overprotective father.

"I don't have any. We're friends," Harry replied. She started to feel her confusion and disbelief being taken over by anger.

"And what kind of question is that? Who are you, his mother?" Harry asked sarcastically.

Fury's eye narrowed.

"I'm the man you don't want to piss off Peverell," Fury responded, voice cold in warning. Harry snorted her derision at his answer.

"Something funny to you Peverell?" he asked her challengingly.

Harry wanted to reply. She wanted to take his bait and tell him, yes, she found his whole interrogation to be hilarious. However she knew that he expected her to take the bait, for her to respond so that he could get her to slip up and tell him what he wanted to hear.

Had Fury been an idiot she would have responded without a thought and would have watched as he made a fool of himself in front of her. Yet the Fury in front of her was supremely intelligent and an experienced interrogator.

When Harry was younger she would never have thought this through – when she was younger she was all quick-wit and snark, only caring about the fight and not about the information that was lost during the verbal sparring.

But Harry had grown and had learned through her failures that sometimes it's good to think things through before diving head first into confrontations. Granted it was a lesson she was still trying to perfect, but she had a better grasp on it now than she had when she was a teenager.

Fury wanted to know what her intentions are in regard to Steve – well, Harry also wanted to know what Fury's intentions are in regard to Steve.

"Where's Steve?" she asked instead of replying to his question. She watched as something unidentifiable flashed across Fury's face before it settled back into his 'cold glare of doom.'

"His location is classified and is none of your concern," Fury said in a warning tone.

"As his friend I have to say that, yes his location is my concern," Harry retorted, not backing down.

"You really expect me to believe that you're his friend? I'm still not convinced you're not a spy who manipulated Rogers into becoming your friend so you could gain information while his guard was down."

"That's bullshit and you know it. I'm not a spy and I definitely didn't manipulate Steve into doing anything," Harry countered. She tried not to think about the first time they met and how she had used magic to make him agree with her; though it technically didn't count as her manipulating him into being her friend.

"You didn't manipulate him into anything? Really? I find that hard to believe considering that he has done things that have been extremely out of character for him since he met you," Fury sneered, once more leaning over the table in an aggressive manner.

"Are you serious? What have I done to him that has caused him to be 'out of character'?" Harry asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. Fury was past Harry's tolerance level for asinine conversations.

"You've done enough," Fury told her, not bothering to elaborate on what he meant.

"Like what?" Harry asked in a contained yell. She shot up from her chair, fed up with Fury's power-play and his whole interrogation. She felt her magic stir as it responded to her anger but she kept it at bay – Fury had no idea about her magic, no need to reveal it now.

"Gotten him to drink is one," Fury said offhandedly, as if it was the most out of character thing Harry had caused Steve to do.

"Oh no, a man who likes alcohol, it's the end of the world!" Harry exclaimed in mock horror.

"You also were the one to get him to contact Agent Carter – that is after you had been looking through classified documents. And how can you honestly not expect me to think you're a spy when the first thing you said to him when you got caught was that you 'weren't a spy'?" Fury inquired, standing up straight while he talked so he could look down on Harry once more.

"Merlin do you have this place bugged or something?!" Harry asked as she looked around at the room they were in. She had meant the comment as a joke, but the longer Fury was silent the more uneasy Harry became.

"You've got to be kidding me," Harry said as the realization dawned on her. SHIELD had given Steve an apartment they had bugged with microphones and other spying devices. Talk about privacy – it's a good thing she never confessed about her magic to Steve, otherwise SHIELD would have known as well.

"Rogers has changed and you're the reason why," Fury stated as if it was a well known fact.

"Has it ever occurred to you that the reason Steve has changed is because he's finally moving on and realizing that he can never go back to the forties ever again? Because that's the only change I have seen out of Steve," Harry snapped back, her anger at Fury growing every second she was within his presence.

"He's becoming cynical, critical, and distant ever since he became your friend," Fury said, dismissing her answer.

Harry had had enough.

"Are you here to interrogate me on my nonexistent past or are you here because you think I'm the one who made your puppet aware of his strings? Because I can tell you right now, my past is none of your bloody business, and any revelations Steve has had regarding your sketchy organization are his alone. He has never talked to me about any aspect of his job except the fact that he goes away on missions for weeks at a time.

"And I'm not sure you are fully aware of this, but becoming 'cynical, critical, and distant' is all a part of the grieving process – but that does not make Steve any less of a good man than he always has been.

"So for Merlin's sake would you just get to the bloody point of this interrogation and stop beating around the bush because I'm getting tired of your bullshit."

Harry ended her tirade, breathing angrily. She contained her magic – though only just – and she glared at Fury with burning hatred.

What the bloody hell was his deal?

"One day you'll end up dead in a ditch somewhere and I'll be the one giving a medal to whoever pulled the trigger," he told her calmly, finally getting out of his confrontational stance. Fury took on a relaxed pose, and he went to organize the documents within his briefcase.

"If I had a knut every time someone threatened me with death, I wouldn't need a job," Harry said under her breath.

She felt like the interrogation was over and, rolling her eyes, she went to leave the room. However she only took a step when she felt something puncture her neck.

"The fuck?" Harry asked in surprise, reaching her hand over to where the sudden pain had come from. Her eyes widened when she felt something metallic poking out of her neck and she turned around to find Fury staring at her calmly.

Harry's vision began to blur but she refused to pass out. She turned away from Fury and tried to find where the dart had come from, only to stumble on her feet.

Harry hit the ground hard, the sound of her body hitting the floor a lot louder than the blood rushing through her ears.

The last thing she saw before passing out were Fury's boots and the shoes of another man.

* * *

The first thing Harry was aware of was the low, bone-shaking hum that assaulted her ears. The next thing she was aware of was the fact that she was sitting down, strapped in a seat with a seatbelt over her waist and a harness over her shoulders.

Harry blinked in surprise as she finally took in her surroundings. Harry groaned in annoyance – she was on a plane.

"Oh look, Sleeping Beauty wakes," a woman said and Harry looked over to where the voice came from to see a woman in her late thirties looking at Harry with a smirk on her face.

The woman was dressed in the SHIELD combat uniform, her blonde hair thrown behind her shoulders.

"Damn it Bobbi, you took my line," a man replied from next to the woman, though Harry couldn't see him through the back of his seat.

Harry took in where the couple was sitting and saw that they were in the cockpit – they were the ones piloting the plane. If Harry had a guess she would say that the three of them were the only ones on the plane.

"Wah?" Harry groaned, her head still fuzzy from whatever was used to knock her out.

"Not to be the bearer of bad news, but Dorothy you're not in Kansas anymore," the man told her, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"Really Clint? You went with Dorothy?" Bobbi, the woman, asked in a very disappointed tone.

"Well you took my line," Clint, the man, replied.

Harry shut her eyes as she tried to get rid of the massive headache that had suddenly appeared.

"I think I might throw up," she told them, interrupting the couple's spat about something or other – Harry had stopped listening.

The duo's conversation stopped and Harry watched as the woman rummaged in a bag before coming over to Harry with a needle in her hand. Harry's hands flew up, palms out, ready to blast the woman out of the plane.

"No, do not come anywhere near me with that thing," Harry warned her, eyeing the woman and what she was holding suspiciously.

The woman rolled her eyes.

"Really? It's just something that will calm your stomach," she told Harry before turning back to look at her partner with a strange look on her face – somewhere between disbelief and questioning.

"You're just intimidating Bobbi," the man told her, causing the woman to smirk.

"You think I'm intimidating, Barton?" she asked flirtatiously.

"Eh, sometimes," he replied causing the woman's smirk to fall into a frown.

"Are you two serious right now?" Harry asked weakly. She wasn't sure which was worse: Ron and Hermione's arguments or these two's flirtations.

"I'm sorry, are we bothering you?" the woman asked mock-seriously.

"Bobbi take the helm, I got this," the man spoke up suddenly. Harry watched as the woman went back to her seat where she took over piloting the plane; once she was settled, Harry watched as the man stepped away from the cockpit.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as Agent Clint 'Hawkeye' Barton greeted her.

In Harry's universe, Auror Clint Barton and his partner, Auror Natasha Romanoff, had been two of the best aurors in Fury's department; he had held them in high regard and Harry had to agree after reading their files. They were odd choices for aurors – Barton's wand had been cedar and Romanoff's had been alder – and they were never given the proper respect from anyone but Fury (probably because Barton had been a muggleborn and Romanoff had been an immigrant from Russia).

Harry remembered seeing them in photographs where Barton and Romanoff were together, both public and private settings; however the picture that stood out most in Harry's mind was their last.

They had been strung up from an oak tree, their bodies swayed gently in the breeze like morbid wind chimes.

Harry had never considered how terrible it would be to die by hanging until she had seen that photo.

Barton sat down across from Harry and he began to study the needle with the supposed medicine in it.

"My name is Agent Clint Barton, and the lovely lady over there is Agent Bobbi Morse, although you might know us better as Hawkeye and Mockingbird," Barton told Harry, putting the needle down. Harry looked between him and Morse.

"I've heard of you," Harry said to Barton, "but I have never heard of Agent Morse."

"Bobbi – and how dare you," Bobbi exclaimed in outrage, "just because I didn't go around killing aliens doesn't mean I'm not as badass as Mr. Hot-guy over there."

Harry watched as Barton rolled his eyes and Harry shot him an inquisitive look.

"We used to date," Barton said in way of explanation. Harry nodded her head in understanding.

"We used to be engaged," Bobbi cut in, causing Barton to nod in agreement.

"So what happened?" Harry asked looking between the two ex-lovers. It wasn't like she cared; she just knew that if they were willing to answer this question then they would be willing to answer any other question she had.

"He can't shoot straight."

"She made me partially deaf in my right ear."

Harry blinked as she tried to process what they said. They had responded at the same time and in such a nonchalant manner, as if it had all happened years ago. She wasn't sure if they were being sarcastic or not and she realized it didn't bode well for her own little interrogation.

"Well, it's nice to see you two are still friends," Harry replied; Barton and Bobbi snorted their amusement at the same time, causing Harry's eyebrows to rise in surprise.

Barton studied Harry with an intense gaze and Harry felt herself straighten up under his assessment. He must have seen something he approved of, though, because he gave her a slight smile.

"I'm guessing you have a few questions," he said, getting as comfortable as a SHIELD agent could in his seat.

"Yeah, just a bit," Harry replied. She was a bit thrown by Barton's attitude towards her.

"Alright, shoot," Barton told her, giving her permission to ask. Bobbi groaned at Barton's word choice.

"Where are you taking me?" Harry asked immediately – she wanted answers.

"London, England. We assume that's where you're from judging by your accent," Barton replied.

"Why are you taking me to London?" Harry felt her eyebrows draw together in confusion.

"For several reasons: Fury wants you out of Roger's life, you have no documentation that allows you to be in the US so we're deporting you, and there are more cameras in London than there are people so it's the prime place to keep eyes on you without needing to send out agents to follow you around," Barton explained candidly, causing Harry to once again feel surprised by his openness.

"Why are you answering my questions?" Harry asked genuinely confused over Barton's move.

"Clint has a habit of finding women of questionable pasts and convincing them to become SHIELD agents," Bobbi answered for Barton, who rolled his eyes. Harry could see Bobbi's smirk from where she was sitting.

"Because you're friends with Rogers. Because Rogers is a good man and you're a terrible liar. Because I was the one to shoot you with the tranquilizer and I feel a bit guilty– granted I was only following Fury's orders," Barton confessed.

Harry wasn't actually surprised over the fact that Barton was the one to shoot her – after all his talent was accuracy. Also now that she thought back on her interaction with Fury, his 'pull the trigger' bit was probably the order for Barton to shoot her.

"Besides it was pretty obvious to me that you and Rogers are close, and any friend of Rogers is a friend of mine. I also know that Fury knows you aren't a spy, but he's currently going through a period of paranoia, so it's best to just go along with whatever he's doing just to remain on his good side," Barton added and Harry gave a small laugh of amusement at his latter confession.

Period of paranoia indeed.

"So what happens now?" Harry asked after several minutes of silence. She watched Barton ponder her question before he picked up the needle once more.

"Well, our orders are to drop you off in London with nothing but the clothes on your back," Bobbi spoke up in answer.

"Wait, so you lot basically kidnap me from my life back in New York, and are now taking me to London and leaving me there with no compensation?" Harry asked outraged.

"Basically," Barton and Bobbi told her in unison, nodding their heads.

"So you're making me homeless again?" Harry's voice started to rise as her outrage turned to frustration.

"Well we wouldn't be able to keep an eye on you through the surveillance feeds if you stayed in an apartment day in and day out," Bobbi told her.

"It's either you live on the streets and we keep an eye on you through the security cameras, or we set you up in an apartment we have bugged and you comply to be followed around by an agent at all times," Barton continued, watching as Harry was left speechless.

"Why are you lot going to be watching my every move if you know I'm not a spy?" Harry exclaimed angrily.

"Because you're still suspicious as hell," Bobbi said, as if it was simple to comprehend.

"Because we know you're hiding something important from us and we want to know what it is," Barton explained further.

"I'm not hiding anything from you lot," Harry said, running her hand through her hair. She saw as both Barton and Bobbi gave her a look of disbelief.

"Fine, whatever," Harry exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air out of frustration, "it's fucked up what you lot are doing but fine – if it means I don't have to be around any of you Yanks every hour of every day then I will gladly be homeless."

"Good, now that we have that all settled I need to put you under again," Barton said, standing up from his seat with the needle in his hand.

"What? Why?" Harry asked, eyeing it like it was going to kill her.

"The tranquilizer you were under earlier was supposed to knock you out for twenty-four hours. You were only out for five, though, and we have our orders to drop you off in an area you are unfamiliar with, which means you need to be unconscious when we drop you off," Bobbi explained causing Harry to look at her with a horrified expression on her face.

"Why would you do that? That's terrible!"

"Not as terrible as this," Barton said to Harry as he injected the needle into her neck.

Harry gave a shout of surprise as the needle puncture her skin and she felt as her magic accidently shot out from the wound to give Barton a small shock. He didn't react to it, probably thinking it was static electricity than something magical.

"Have a nice nap," Barton told her as he clapped her on the shoulder.

Harry became too tired to respond.

For the second time that day, Harry slipped into oblivion.

* * *

Author's Note:

**O_O**

That's my face over all the reviews you guys have been giving this story. Thank you so much for the reviews and all the feedback you've been giving. I know this gets repetitive so just know that I am continually grateful for you guys.

As for the story, I feel like the updates will slow down from here on out - so I hope you enjoyed the regularity while it lasted. Of course I'll try to continue the updates on Mondays and Fridays, but just know that the update schedule might change soon.

Anyway, thanks again and have a great weekend.


	9. Chapter 8

Author's Warning:

Potential spoilers to Captain America: Winter Soldier. Probably nothing too major if you're a comic book reader but probably major if you only watch the movies. As it is I have no idea what's going to happen in the movie - everything I've written in this chapter is speculation based on online interviews and the trailers for the movie.

So yeah, if any of this actually happens in the movie I will eat my hat.

* * *

Steve was not having a good year.

It had started in January, when Fury had informed Steve that he was being moved to Washington DC. Fury had explained that Steve's location had been compromised and that he would be of better use in the nation's capital than in Brooklyn. And while Steve could see Fury's point, he was still upset by the change; Steve had finally built up a life in Brooklyn and Fury telling him that he would have to leave it behind was disconcerting.

He hadn't even been allowed to say goodbye to Harry.

The first couple of months in Washington DC were hard for Steve. It was like he was back to where he had been when he first woke up from the ice – alone, depressed, and just following whatever orders SHIELD gave him.

On missions he had been partnered with Natasha Romanoff. Steve was glad he was partnered with his fellow Avenger, and the more missions they had together the closer they became as friends.

And while Steve enjoyed his friendship with Natasha, he was becoming more and more pessimistic in regard to the missions he was assigned. Most of his missions were rescue or recovery, though some of the missions were surveillance – and in almost every case the missions revolved around SHIELD's interests.

Steve started to become aggravated at the blatant lies SHIELD was willing to tell – whether it was about what they were doing or what they knew. However, Steve knew that SHIELD was an organization that was set up to protect the people and so he was willing to go along with his orders if it meant the general public was safe.

The closer Steve and Natasha became, the more Natasha tried to get him out into the world and socialize with others. He could understand why she was trying to do so – it wasn't like Steve was actively going out to interact with people – but he always found himself declining. For some reason, when Natasha tried to get him to do something fun that wasn't work related, Steve would always brush her off; maybe it was because she was always trying to set him up on a date with other SHIELD agents, or, more likely, it was because Natasha wasn't Harry.

One of the weird things about Harry was that she understood what Steve needed, whereas Natasha was only guessing. He didn't need or want to be set up on a date with someone he didn't know – if Steve wanted to interact with people, he wanted to hang out with a friend.

He wanted to hang out with Harry, but he couldn't contact her because it might compromise his location again – at least that's what Fury told him.

This meant that when Steve wasn't on missions for SHIELD he had a lot of downtime.

When he had first moved, Steve had walked around Washington DC just to see how much the nation had changed. One of the first things he noticed was just how much political conflict there was in the capitol. Another thing he noticed was just how many war monuments had been erected – how many lives had been lost to protect the country.

He had gone to the Smithsonian several times and had wandered around the exhibits. He was filled with sorrow and dread when he saw an exhibit dedicated to Captain America, and he walked through it looking at his life in a museum.

He was a relic to be looked at and studied – of no use now.

A few weeks into his life in DC, Fury ordered Steve to go see a counselor in order for him to get psychologically adjusted, an order Steve reluctantly complied to.

That was how Steve met Sam Wilson, a SHIELD agent and a counselor who specialized in PTSD. Wilson was a veteran of the Iraq war and he and Steve became friends surprisingly quick after bonding over war stories.

And so months passed with Steve completing missions with Natasha, and spending time with Sam, and before long it was August and over a year had passed since the Chitauri attack.

And that's when the proverbial shit hit the fan.

It first started when Steve, Natasha, and a fellow SHIELD agent, Brock Rumlow, were tasked to recover the Zodiac –a very dangerous weapon that had the potential of killing many people at a time – from a secret terrorist organization. While they did hit a snag or two in its recovery, they successfully completed the mission. Steve, however, was not happy about how SHIELD had lied to him.

Steve knew about the Zodiac from Peggy – she was the one to obtain it from a group of thugs and had given it to SHIELD for safe keeping. She had been assured by Fury that the Zodiac had been destroyed, yet there Steve and Natasha were, infiltrating a building to take back the Zodiac.

With the mission a success and the Zodiac back in SHIELD's possession, Steve was left to contemplate just how much he trusted SHIELD as an organization.

Not that he had long to contemplate SHIELD's lies – Chicago had been under attack.

Steve and Natasha had been in Chicago undercover once word hit that there would be an attack on the SHIELD base containing the Zodiac. They had been manning the perimeter of the building when the attack happened.

There was a lot of destruction, carnage, and casualties. But in the midst of the battle Steve was left with a shocking discovery.

The assassin known to many as the Winter Soldier was really his best friend Bucky Barnes.

Or at least that's what Steve suspected. It was hard for Steve to comprehend – Bucky had fallen to his death, he wasn't some Russian assassin with a metal arm.

Steve hadn't wanted to make the connection at first, and Natasha's stories about the Winter Soldier only made his resolve grow towards denial.

The attack on Chicago had resulted in Fury being injured and the Zodiac being taken once more. Steve had been upset and confused, but had put all his feelings to the side in order to focus on the mission.

Fury gave Natasha and Steve the task to take down the Winter Soldier and gain back control of the Zodiac once more. Fury had also warned Steve that he shouldn't trust anyone, which ended up being a surprisingly easy task for Steve.

The only people he trusted fully were Natasha, Sam, and Harry – and one of them wasn't even involved in the whole ordeal.

It turned out Fury had been right not to trust anyone. Apparently HYDRA was still around and had infiltrated SHIELD with fake agents. Suddenly Natasha and Steve were unraveling some large conspiracy within SHIELD while also having to hunt down the Zodiac once more.

It was all turning out to be too much to handle for Steve, and he started to approach every revelation with an uncaring attitude.

Oh, Agent Brock Rumlow, a man Steve was beginning to see as a friend, was actually a HYDRA agent in disguise? Oh, Alexander Pierce, one of the heads of SHIELD and Fury's boss, was also a HYDRA agent?

Steve was no longer surprised.

It slowly became apparent to Steve that he only cared about two things – 1) Bucky was still alive, and 2) Bucky had no memory of who Steve was.

HYDRA, who was the terrorist group behind the attacks (which when Steve heard that HYDRA was still around, he greeted the news with nothing but an angry expression and a sigh), was almost done with making the Zodiac into a weapon of mass destruction when Steve and Natasha were greeted with a surprise.

Ivan Petrovitch Bezukhov, a defected HYDRA agent and Natasha's father-figure from her childhood, came to Steve, Natasha, and Fury to tell them of how they could destroy the Zodiac once and for all. He explained that the Zodiac in its present form had originally been a part of the completed Zodiac –Zodiac Prime, as he called it – but it had been separated from the rest of the object once the scientists studying it had isolated the destructive tendencies of the object.

Ivan explained that if they were able to reunite the destructive Zodiac with Zodiac Prime then it would become harmless.

So while Fury tried to do damage control back at SHIELD's headquarters, Steve, Natasha, and Ivan went to find Zodiac Prime. When the three arrived at the location where it was rumored to be held, they were greeted with the Winter Soldier and a mass of HYDRA agents.

The following tussle was bloody. Steve once again fought against Bucky, who still didn't remember who Steve was. Natasha was able to recover the docile Zodiac Prime, however Ivan was badly injured. Fortunately, Steve and Natasha were able to get Ivan out of the battle and into a hospital.

Unfortunately Ivan didn't make it.

Steve never thought he would ever see Natasha 'Black Widow' Romanoff cry, and yet she shed tears over Ivan's body.

Their resolve grew solid after that. Steve recruited Sam for their final mission – Sam had been helping Fury try to contain the destruction to SHIELD's property, though that didn't end well either.

So Steve, Natasha, and Sam "the Falcon" Wilson infiltrated the base where the destructive Zodiac was being prepped for detonation with the intent to neutralize the threat.

Though if Steve knew what neutralizing the Zodiac would do, he would probably have let it be.

* * *

Steve ran down a hallway, bashing and punching anyone with a gun who was shooting at him. He was heading towards the room the Zodiac was held in and was met with hordes of goons on the way.

He only had moments before the Zodiac was to be deployed on Washington DC, and Steve would rather suffer from a stitch in his side and sore knuckles than have the deaths every civilian in DC on his hands.

Steve turned a corner, knocking out the two guards in one hit as he did so, and was greeted to the sight of Bucky about to place the Zodiac into the dispenser machine.

"Bucky stop!" Steve commanded, his breath coming in quick bursts as he skidded to a stop.

Bucky spun on the spot to glare at Steve, the vial of the blue liquid that was the deadly Zodiac in his hands. Steve took in Bucky's appearance once again with a deep sadness and regret in his heart.

Bucky's dark brown hair was long and wavy, his left arm now metal, his eyes rimmed with heavy black makeup reminiscent of a mask. And, while Bucky looked physically imposing, there was no trace of the man Steve called his best friend anywhere in Bucky's demeanor.

"Stop calling me that!" Bucky snarled at Steve, who could hear the faint Russian accent in his voice.

Steve blocked the punch Bucky threw at him; he was still surprised by how fast Bucky could move.

They descended into a well choreographed dance: Bucky would punch at Steve, only to have Steve block his fists. They traded off their punches, Steve trying to get a hit in when Bucky gave him an opening, only to have Bucky block his hits.

The two were too evenly matched.

"What else am I supposed to call you? You're name is Bucky! How do you not remember?" Steve asked desperately as they fought. Bucky growled as he swung his metal fist at Steve's face.

"You don't know anything!" Bucky bit out. His fist swung too wide, allowing Steve the chance to jab him in the stomach.

"I know that you're my best friend," Steve said as he tried to follow up his hit with another one, only to be blocked by Bucky. "I know that we grew up together, that you used to come to my defense when I would be bullied, that you took art classes with me because you knew it made me happy even though you claimed it was because you were trying to pick up women."

Steve blocked Bucky's hits as he talked, watching as his words caused Bucky to punch impulsively.

Steve tried to use Bucky's lose of concentration to his advantage; however his attempted punch to Bucky's temple was blocked by his metal arm.

Damn it that hurt.

"Do you not know how to shut up?" Bucky asked as his metal hand grasped Steve's throat.

Steve's hands immediately went to try to pry Bucky's metal fingers away from his neck, and Steve could feel his feet begin to dangle off the floor as Bucky lifted him off the ground.

Steve heard as more guards approached the room they were in, and Steve knew that if Bucky received back up then he would be unable to complete his objective.

Steve's eyes were drawn to the solitary table in the room, where the vial containing the Zodiac was placed. Zodiac Prime was in Steve's pouch located on his belt, ready to be reunited with its other half. He would only have one chance before the inevitable end came.

Steve shot his right hand away from his neck and into the pouch to grasp the vial containing the orange liquid that was Zodiac Prime.

"No," Steve choked out before throwing the vial, as if it was his shield, towards its evil half.

Steve and Bucky watched as the two vials crashed into each other in a shower of glass and liquid.

Bucky let go of Steve's neck and slowly backed away from the site of the two smashed vials. Steve, meanwhile, collapsed onto all fours so he could get his breath back and under control. It was a good thing Bucky had dropped Steve when he had – Steve had been about to black out from lack of air.

Steve heard Bucky yelling at the guards telling them to evacuate. Bucky's worried tone caused Steve to look over at where the vials had shattered, and his eyes widened in surprise.

The liquid from the two vials began to levitate up into the air, as though they were water running up into a hose instead of out of it. The orange Zodiac slowly started to engulf the blue Zodiac, causing the liquid to ripple and contort to accommodate the once absent half.

Steve and Bucky watched with rapt attention as the now purely orange liquid hovered in the air, moving around like disrupted water in a tank, before it started to spin around itself in fast rotations.

Steve saw the liquid start to crystallize as it spun around faster and faster to the point where light was coming off of it in pulsating waves; Steve and Bucky both had to shield their eyes with their hands so they wouldn't be blinded by the light – it was like they were looking directly into the sun. When the lights stopped flashing, Steve heard a clink as the now solid orange band hit the ground.

The two men looked at the now still object. It took Steve a moment to realize what the new object reminded him of.

It was an orange, crystal, Möbius strip.

Steve reacted on instinct. Shooting up from his position on the ground, Steve sprinted towards the orange band, Bucky hot on his heels.

Steve dove for the band, his hand grasping the object before Bucky could reach it.

And that's when the pain started.

Pain shot up his hand, through his arm, and cascaded throughout the rest of his body – a burning, electric pain, as if Steve was simultaneously being burnt in a pyre and hit by lighting.

When the pain reached his head, Steve felt a sudden, blinding headache erupt; it made him feel as though his forehead was splitting into two, his brain on fire.

Steve tensed, curling up into himself subconsciously, as though it would get him away from the pain. He felt like screaming, but before he could even get his mouth open he felt metal grip his throat once more.

Bucky had finally caught up to him.

His eyes started to burn and Steve closed his eyes as if it would extinguish the feeling.

Instead of darkness, images flashed before Steve, far too fast for him to comprehend.

He felt someone try to pull the fully formed Zodiac from his hand, but they couldn't pry it away from his grasp – it felt like it had melted into his very skin.

A scream flooded Steve's ears and, through all the pain and the flashing images in his mind, Steve was unsure if it was him that was screaming or Bucky.

Bucky.

Suddenly the multitude of images racing in past his eyes slowed down.

And Steve watched as the memory of the first time he and Bucky met played out before him – Steve a scrawny little kid and Bucky coming to save him from the bullies.

That memory complete, it changed to flashes of other memories of Steve and Bucky growing up together: of all the fun they had as children, of all the times Bucky rescued Steve from the bullies, of all the times Steve dragged Bucky to art class, of the times they had confessed their fears and their aspirations to each other.

And then came the War, and the memory of Steve and Bucky at the Stark Expo on that failed double date. That was followed by Bucky going off to basic training and leaving Steve behind; of Bucky excelling at being a sniper, of being a leader; of Bucky and his platoon being captured by HYDRA.

And then there were flashes of torture – Bucky being tortured by HYDRA, of him not revealing anything.

Of Steve – no longer scrawny and weak, but a super soldier – storming in and rescuing Bucky for a change.

Of their time together with the Howling Commandos. Of all their triumphs together on missions.

Of the mission on the train, and Bucky falling to his death.

And the memories continued, past Steve's knowledge of Bucky's life.

Bucky waking up in a Russian lab with a metal arm and amnesia; of Bucky being brainwashed into being an assassin.

Memories of Bucky's life as the Winter Soldier sped past Steve's mind.

Of all the times Bucky killed the innocent, killed those in power, killed the bad guys, killed the good guys.

Of all the times Bucky completed an assassination only to return to his masters to get his memory altered; for him to be put back into stasis.

Of the first time Bucky met a young Natasha, of how they grew close, of how Natasha defected and Bucky wanted to go with her but was put back into stasis instead.

Of how Bucky was taken from the Russians and into HYDRA's control.

And through all these memories there was death. Bucky killed, and murdered, and there was so much blood on his hands.

And there was so little trace of the man who would come to Steve's aid as a child.

And Bucky didn't remember any of it.

Steve heard yelling, soft at first and then loud – like an ambulance's siren as it drives to the wounded.

Bucky let go of Steve and the Zodiac, and suddenly Steve was plunged back into the rush of images far too fast for him to comprehend.

And it was then Steve realized just how sentient the Zodiac was; how it felt like it was searching for something, or someone.

And Steve noticed that it started to shift through his own memories: memories of his mother, of Bucky, or being beaten up by bullies, and Dr. Erskine and Peggy and the war.

It showed him his descent into the ice, of SHIELD finding him decades too late, of his brief time fighting with the Avengers.

_I was actually going to get that one_.

Just like that the rush of memories stopped, Steve receiving whiplash as if he had been in a car accident.

And there was Harry, eyebrows raised and looking at Steve like he was an idiot.

Had he only known Harry for a year?

The memory played out in front of Steve: he watched himself struggle to talk to Harry while she continued to look at him with her amused, judgmental look.

And while Steve would have loved to just watch the memory, he couldn't concentrate because the Zodiac decided to start pulsating in his hands – as if celebrating a victory.

Steve felt a wave of giddiness fall over him, though Steve knew it was not his own – it felt sick and wrong and so twistedly happy.

With each pulse the Zodiac sent out it was accompanied by a faint phrase that grew louder and louder with each thump.

she's the one, She's the one, She's The One, **_SHESTHEONE_**

And just like that, Steve was once more plunged into a rush of memories. Except this time the memories didn't belong to Bucky, or to Steve.

They belonged to Harry.

Harry as a baby, being entertained by a man with unruly black hair and glasses, who waved around a wooden stick that produced colored smoke, a woman with a round face and kind eyes shaking her head as she watched.

Harry as a small child, being yelled at by a large man with no neck and a horse-looking woman with too much neck while a rotund child watched on with a smirk on his face.

To Harry as a child, struggling against a man who was trying to kidnap her, one arm lifting her off the ground while his other hand covered her mouth with a cloth. Harry's screams were muffled by the man, but one particularly loud muffled scream was accompanied by the shattering of all the lights on the street; and as glass rained down, the memory faded away.

To be replaced by Harry with blood drenched clothes, a bloody chef's knife clenched in her hands, her body going into shock.

That changed quickly to Harry a couple months older, looking emaciated and feral as she tied a bracelet onto her left wrist. Steve watched as a bright, golden, fiery light engulfed Harry, and before he could even comprehend what was happening he was swept into a whirlwind of memories.

Memories of Harry with a boy who had a round face and kind eyes like the woman; a girl with bushy brown hair and buck teeth and a bossy demeanor; a boy with flaming red hair and a freckled face with disproportioned hands and feet; a girl with flaming red hair and brown eyes that twinkled mischievously; a girl with blonde hair and distant eyes with a bottle cap necklace and a wooden stick tucked behind her ear.

Memories of the four, memories of the six, as they fought against grotesque creatures and black cloaks with silver masks – some of which didn't even have faces, just black cloaks and decomposing hands.

Memories of brooms, and cauldrons, and books, and a warm red room filled with children with red-trimmed cloaks, and a giant hall filled with people that had stars for a ceiling.

Memories of giant battles and torture and death.

Memories of the six, much older now, who were sprawled around in a circle, a bottle being passed between them all; Harry content and the most at home Steve had ever seen.

Of Harry talking with Fury, and Bucky, and Loki, and the Starks, and Schmidt.

Of Harry standing in the middle of an intricately designed pentagram as she looked at Schmidt, who looked livid, before she started to scream in pain.

Which changed immediately to Harry getting hit by a fast moving car.

And then there was Steve, and he saw how he and Harry became friends through the memories; though they were broken up by memories of Harry in abandon buildings waving her hands around to produce lights and fire, or Halloween when she was dressed as a witch.

Because Harry's a witch.

And then it was back to Steve watching memories that he wasn't present for. Of Harry watching Thor save London; of Harry talking to Fury; of Harry talking to Barton.

Of Harry being dropped off in London; of her flipping off Barton; and her drinking with Thor; and her talking with Agent Coulson.

And Steve was assaulted by so many memories it hurt. And then the images went from crisp and clear to muddy and foggy.

And Steve watched as the images showed Harry, in a black cloak that concealed her face, fighting against a horde of metal men.

Of Harry surrounded by the Avengers; of Harry fighting alongside Fury; of Harry, eyes orange and skin rippling, screaming in anguish.

Of Harry talking with a woman in a black cloak who looked eerily similar to Harry, except for her black eyes and skeletal smile; of Harry conversing with a purple-skinned monster, the woman standing in between the two.

Of Harry looking at Steve with black eyes, her veins black and blood dribbling out of her mouth.

And Steve looking down to see a knife embedded in his chest.

Steve convulsed in pain, and fear, and shock, and in his convulsions he had let go of the Zodiac.

Suddenly the images stopped, and Steve opened his eyes to see the blurry outline of Sam Wilson as he looked down on Steve. He felt as Sam slapped his cheeks, and he noticed how the burning, electrifying pain was no longer pulsing through his body.

Steve gave a shuddering breath as his lungs screamed out for air – he felt like someone who had been drowning for so long they forgot how to breathe the air.

"That's it Steve, deep breathes," Sam told him, his tone somewhere between worried and calm. Steve started to breathe, coughing out his breathes, and he was painfully reminded of the time in his life when he had suffered from asthma.

After a minute of breathing, Steve started to feel better. His vision was no longer blurry, and he watched as Sam's face became more in-focused the calmer his heart became. Of course his returned vision did nothing to alleviate his headache, which still pounded away at his head like he had just been forced to take a three hour math exam.

With his breathing under control and his vision restored, Steve took the time to listen to his surroundings. There were sounds of people milling around, hushed whispers and shoes hitting the ground. He was also aware of a whimpering, and Steve looked over to where he thought it was coming from.

The first thing he saw was a group of SHIELD agents standing around the doorway, and since they weren't shooting at Steve, he figured they were the good guys.

The second thing he saw was Natasha cradling Bucky in her arms, rocking him back and forth as he whimpered; she spoke to him softly in Russian.

Steve's heart skipped a beat as soon as he saw Bucky, and his mind thought back to the flashes of memories involving Bucky.

"Bucky?" Steve asked, his voice fatigued. He watched as Bucky looked up at Steve with mixed emotions, his eyes wide.

"Steve?" he asked in a small voice, as though he wasn't confident that that was Steve's name.

Steve gave a small smile at Bucky, and the moment would have been great had Bucky not passed out after saying Steve's name.

"Bucky!" Steve exclaimed as he saw Bucky's eyes roll to the back of his head. He tried to get up from his position on the ground, but his arms shook violently and his legs wouldn't support his weight.

Steve flopped back down onto the ground, exhausted.

* * *

Author's note:

As you can probably tell this chapter was hard to write and I'm not sure how I feel about it - feedback would be much appreciated for this chapter.

And thanks again for all the positive reviews. I know a lot of you thought what Fury did was, weird to say the least. I might write out an explanation of Fury's thought process into the story, but if I don't I'll try to explain it in an author's note or something.

Anyway, thanks again and Happy Monday.


	10. Chapter 9

Harry groaned as she woke up, her eyes squinting against the rising sun. She was lying down on a bench in a park and, as she pushed herself up into sitting position, she noticed the piece of paper that was attached to her shirt. Ripping the paper off, she looked at the note that was written on the page.

_Really sorry about having to drug you, however orders are order and you looked like you needed the sleep. Can we still be friends? _

Harry looked up from the note, perplexed. She detected movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to look at what it was.

She saw Agents Barton and Morse leaning against a tree, close enough to Harry that they could see each other, but far enough away so that Harry couldn't punch them.

Agent Barton gave her a hopeful smile and Morse gave a wave – like they were expecting to be friends after what had happened.

Harry scowled at them and flipped them off using both her hands. She watched as they laughed at her before turning around and leaving the park.

She remained seated on the bench in order to assess her situation. She was now in London, which wasn't that big of a deal – Harry knew London like she knew Hogwarts, and so she was confident that she would be able to navigate this London as well as the one back home. All she needed to do was walk around the city a bit in order to familiarize herself with it once more.

Of course that wasn't her main concern. She was homeless and was being watched through city cameras, meaning that she couldn't use magic like she had been doing in New York – the last thing she wanted was SHIELD finding out about her magic through a security camera she had no knowledge about. That meant that she had to constantly be on the lookout for cameras.

Which meant that she also couldn't steal food from shops anymore; if SHIELD was watching her every move then she really didn't want to give them any excuse to arrest her, and her stealing things from shops, however petty a crime, could hold negative consequences for her.

Luckily, Harry had several hundred American dollars in her mokeskin pouch; however, that was all the money she felt safe using seeing as how she wouldn't hold it against SHIELD if they had frozen her bank account. So at least this time she had money to start out her homeless life, which meant she was fine for a couple of weeks in regard to food.

Harry stood up from the bench, a bit wobbly due to the drugs that had kept her asleep, and she walked out of the park.

She knew objectively that London in this universe had a lot of security cameras, but she didn't actually _know _about it until she was out of the park and on the sidewalk. She counted three cameras on one building pointed in different directions to cover the entirety of the street; and she could see more on another building further down the road.

She glared directly into one of the cameras and, feeling spiteful, flipped off the camera to show her displeasure.

If SHIELD was watching, they'd understand.

* * *

"Is this your card?" Harry asked the child as she drew a random card from her deck.

It was a beautiful April day, and Harry was performing 'street magic' in front of a crowd in Hyde Park. She got the idea of performing simple tricks for money a few days into her life in London; she had been walking through Trafalgar Square when she noticed the number of street performers who were making money from tips left by onlookers.

Her idea had solidified when she noticed a man performing an elaborate slight-of-hand trick that had his audience in rapt attention. It didn't take long after the man's performance for Harry to go out and buy a deck of regular playing cards so she could formulate her own act.

Performing magic in front of muggles was dangerous; however, Harry was too prideful to beg for money, and felt so vindictive towards SHIELD that she thought it would be hilarious if she performed blatant magic under the disguise of slight-of-hand right in front of the security cameras.

Of course her act wasn't anything spectacular. She had to rely heavily on transfiguration, which had never been her strong suit while at school – she was good at charms, and excelled at dueling and defensive magic, however, if someone asked her to turn a porcupine into a pincushion they would be met with a porcupine and a very frustrated Harry. She knew the only reason why she had received an Exceeds Expectations on her OWLs was because she had studied with Hermione, who was a transfiguration prodigy.

This all meant her act relied on the only bit of transfiguration she was comfortable with, namely changing the color of objects.

So Harry held up a random card to the little girl and watched as she looked at her with held back laughter.

"No," the girl said with a smile tugging at her lips, as if she had tricked Harry instead of the other way around.

"Really?" Harry asked as she looked at the card herself. She knew it wasn't the correct card, but she had a role to play. She looked in disbelief at the girl before shaking the card in her hand, thinking about what colors she wanted on the card.

"What about now?" she asked, showing the card once more to the girl. Harry saw as her eyes widened in surprise, the once black and white card of the eight of spades now changed to a purple and orange of the same suit.

The little girl reached out for the card and looked at it in wonder, her own card completely forced out of her mind.

"Mom, look!" the girl exclaimed as she held out the card for her mother to see. Harry smiled a sad smile as she watched the girl and her mother interact.

Harry noticed that the crowd who had once been watching her had turned their attention elsewhere, and she followed their gaze to see a tall man with long blond hair and a beard being swarmed by people.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise when she finally realized who the man was.

"Can you do it again?" the girl asked, drawing Harry's attention away from the crowd of people surrounding the Norse god of thunder and back to the little girl in question.

"I don't know," Harry said, drawing out the words playfully.

"Please?" the little girl asked, drawing out the word while waving the card in the air. Harry smiled, nodding her head while taking the card back from the girl.

"Well okay, since you said the magic word, I guess I can do the trick again," Harry answered, much to the child's delight.

Harry ran through her routine again: changing the card back to normal, shuffling the deck, holding out the cards for the girl to choose one, having her put it back into the pile, shuffling the deck once more, picking a random card.

"Is this your card?" Harry asked again, holding out the Queen of diamonds.

"No," the girl said again, though this time she was more focused, as if she was trying to see exactly when Harry would perform the slight-of-hand.

Harry smiled at the girl's determination as she shook the card, changing the color scheme to blue, bronze, and silver.

"What about now?" Harry asked once more, holding out the transfigured card. The girl reacted in much the same way as she had before, and Harry took the time to look back over to the god.

Thor was taking pictures with some of his fans, his smiling face a funny sight to see on such an imposing body. Harry was surprised to see him here, for she had not realized he was still in London. The attack on London had happened in February, and Harry had thought that by now he would be back on Asgard instead of hanging around on Earth.

She was surprised by how relaxed Thor was around his adoring fans. Harry knew that if their positions had been switched that she would not have taken the amount of people crowding around her with as much grace and ease as Thor.

"Alright dear, it's time to go," the mother said, trying to convince her daughter that they had been entertained enough. The little girl gave a whine in protest and Harry, fearing tears, got down on her knees so she was at eyelevel with the little girl.

"Hey, it's fine," Harry said smiling at the girl, "how about I give you a souvenir to take with you?"

The girl looked questioningly at Harry, who reached over and took the card back from the little girl. Holding the card between her fingers, Harry flicked her wrist and fanned out two identical copies of the same card. Or partially identical; Harry wasn't an expert on copying objects, and she could tell she hadn't conjured the same type of material for the copied card as the original. She highly doubted, though, that the little girl would notice.

"There you go," Harry told her, giving her the magical card. The little girl gave a great big grin and the mother, smiling at her daughter, dropped a couple of coins into Harry's beanie hat.

"What do we say?" the mother prompted her daughter.

"Thank you!" the girl exclaimed.

"You are very welcome," Harry said, standing back up. She watched as the two left before turning to her hat to see how much she received.

It wasn't much, maybe enough to buy a couple bags of crisps, but it was more money than people normally left.

"Tips for a starving witch?"

Harry looked up to see a young woman: brown hair, glasses, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and an American accent.

"Yeah," Harry replied, tossing her hat back down next to her cardboard sign that had big black letters declaring 'Tips for a starving witch.'

"Are you a good witch or a bad witch?" the woman asked, her voice curious.

"I'm the goodest witch you're ever going to meet. Unless we're fighting," Harry replied, shrugging her shoulders at her amendment.

"Alright Glinda, show me what you've got," she said; Harry smirked at the challenge.

Harry did the same routine as she had done with the little girl, and when she revealed the changed card to the woman she watched as her eyes widened in surprise.

"Whoa, let me see that," the woman said, snatching the newly turned green and silver card from Harry's hand to get a better look.

"What do you have, another stack of cards up your sleeve or something?" she asked Harry as she continued to inspect the card.

"Or something," Harry replied blandly. The nice thing about muggles was that they never thought she was actually using magic, which was good for her and added an extra 'fuck you' to SHIELD whenever she did her act in front of a camera.

"Hey Thor! Come check this out!" the girl called out and Harry, face drawn in confusion, looked over to where Thor was to see him excusing himself from his fans and walking over.

"Darcy, what is wrong? Is something the matter?" Thor asked as he walked up to the woman, Darcy, and Harry tried not to act suspiciously under his gaze.

"No, nothing's wrong, just thought you'd find this cool," Darcy replied nodding over to Harry. With minimal prompting from the woman, Harry ran through her routine once more with Thor.

When she revealed to him the changed Ace of Clubs to a red and gold color scheme, she watched as Thor eyed her with suspicion instead of wonder like she was used to.

"Loki?" he asked her, his voice a mixture of emotions.

"What?" Harry asked, confused. She watched as Thor's shoulders dropped as he came to a realization.

"Sorry, for a second I believed you to be my brother – he too was able to perform tricks such as these," Thor explained, handing the card back to Harry.

"Oh, that's fine. There are honestly worse people out there who you could have confused me with. I'll try taking your mix-up as a compliment," Harry told him as she changed the card back to normal.

Harry thought back to this world's Rita Skeeter, about how Harry had claimed to be dressing up as Loki for a costume party in order to save Steve's identity from the press.

Had that really almost been a year ago?

"There are worse people than the guy who tried to take over the world with an army of aliens?" Darcy asked skeptically, and Harry could see Thor sigh with sadness.

"Yep," Harry said, nodding her head. "For one thing he could have mistaken me for Hitler."

Or Voldemort, or Pettigrew, or Bellatrix Lestrange –there were definitely people she did not want to be confused with; Loki was not one of them.

"Besides, you can't expect the Norse god of mischief and lies to not try to take over the world once in a while. After all there are only so many times you can trick your brother into dressing up in a wedding dress before you grow bored," Harry continued, shrugging her shoulders in a cavalier way.

Harry watched Thor's eyes widen in surprise and his face heat up, while Darcy gave him a playful look.

"How do you know about that?" Thor asked suspiciously, causing Harry's eyes to widen in surprise.

"Wait, that actually happened?" Harry asked Thor, not realizing that the myths she had read as a child were actually true.

Thor blushed, causing Darcy to laugh and Harry to smile.

"I read about it in a story – although I didn't think it had actually happened," Harry explained, trying to hold back her laughter. That was hard, though, on account of the fact that all she could do now was imagine the Thor in front of her in a white wedding dress.

He gave a small smile, part sad and part self-deprecating.

"Ay, that happened. At the time I had protested, but Loki's plan did work out, even with my mistakes," Thor said fondly.

"It is nice to have someone who can talk their way out of anything," Harry said, speaking from experience. She had been lucky enough to be friends with people who could think up excuses on the spot – well, some more than others. Harry was rather good at the act herself, though that might be more due to her luck than actual skill.

"That is true, and a fact I did not always believe, but one I have learned to appreciate," Thor said in a wistful tone. The three stood in silence for a few seconds and it was awkward enough for Harry to run her hand through her hair for something to do.

"Eihwaz?" Thor spoke up suddenly, looking intently at Harry's forehead.

"Bless you" Darcy said, causing Thor to look at her in confusion.

"She has eihwaz on her forehead," Thor explained to Darcy, pointing to the scar on Harry's head.

"Oh, right, I forgot I had that," Harry said, touching her scar.

"Wow, that's wicked awesome," Darcy said in the typical American fashion. Thor stared at Harry, a pensive look on his face.

"It's nothing really," Harry said, trying to get Thor to stop looking at her like he was, "a friend of mine has sowilo as a scar on his forehead."

The scar Neville had received from Voldemort was shaped like a lightning bolt, which was the same shape the rune sowilo took.

"You know Elder Futhark?" Thor asked in surprise while Darcy looked on in confusion.

"I had a class or two in it. Personally I'm glad my scar isn't in the shape of thurisaz or else this conversation would be even more awkward than it is now," Harry explained, running her hand through her hair once more.

Thurisaz was, of course, Thor's rune.

Thor gave a laugh, clapping Harry on the shoulder; she pitched forward, her glasses sliding down her nose, and she was reminded suddenly of Hagrid. Harry grimaced as she felt a wave of homesickness hit her.

"No need to feel awkward, I am just surprised that a Midgardian has knowledge of the Asgardian alphabet," Thor said, giving Harry a friendly smile.

"Sorry to interrupt, but Jane just texted me – apparently she needs help," Darcy said, her focus on her phone.

At those words Thor sprung into action, his body falling into a defensive stance, his face full of concern.

"What is wrong? Is Jane okay?" Thor asked, worry dripping from his tone, an undercurrent of promised pain to whoever dared threaten Jane.

"Oh, no, nothing extreme. It's more of a 'help, I don't know what to wear, Darcy help me,' than a 'help, there's a group of men trying to kill me, Thor help,'" Darcy explained as she put her phone away, causing Thor to relax.

"Tell you what, I'll go and help Jane get ready and we'll meet you at that pub in an hour or two. Got that big guy?" Darcy asked Thor, who nodded in agreement.

"Ay," Thor said, causing Darcy to smile.

"Alright, see you soon then," Darcy said as she started to walk away.

"Nice trick, by the way," Darcy told Harry before walking off, causing Harry to smile stiffly.

Harry and Thor stood in silence once Darcy left, and Harry watched as Thor's face fell into confusion.

"You don't know where you're supposed to go, do you?" Harry asked, recognizing the panic in Thor's face.

"Not from here, no," Thor explained, like a child.

"Do you know the name of the pub?" Harry asked, knowing she could at least give him directions.

"I believe it's called the Leaky Barrel?" Thor said, unsure if that was the correct name.

Harry smiled; the Leaky Barrel was this universe's Leaky Cauldron.

"I know that pub. I can give you directions if you want," Harry said. She watched as Thor looked around, a hesitant look on his face.

"Do you think you could show me?" he asked, and Harry realized that sending Thor off with only directions might not be the best plan.

"Yeah, alright," Harry replied; she couldn't think up a good excuse to say no to the god. She picked up her hat, scooped the money out of it before putting the hat on her head and the money in her mokeskin pouch.

"Let's go," she said, picking up her sign and throwing it away.

* * *

An hour later saw Harry and Thor in the Leaky Barrel, each with a pint at the bar while Thor regaled Harry with the real story behind the wedding dress incident.

"My father was not amused by our dress, but my mother said it brought out my eyes," Thor ended his story with a chuckle, Harry laughing along.

If Harry went back in time and told her child-self that one day she would be drinking with Thor, Norse god of thunder, she would cause a paradox – but also her younger self wouldn't believe her.

She also knew that if she went back a year and told her younger self that Thor and Loki Solberg were the counterparts to the Norse gods Thor and Loki, then she also wouldn't have believed herself.

In her universe, Thor was a pureblood wizard from Denmark whose father was the Denmark Ambassador to the magical world's version of the United Nations, meaning that Thor and his family spent their time split between the US and Denmark. Thor's adoptive brother, Loki, was originally from a pureblood family from Iceland, but, when his birth father was arrested when he was just a baby, Odin Solberg, Thor's father, decided to adopt Loki out of the goodness of his heart. However, if Odin, a pureblood fanatic, knew that Loki would end up being a squib, Harry highly doubted that he would have decided to adopt Loki at all.

Also, if Odin knew that one day Loki, acting under the imperious curse, would end up murdering Odin, Frigga, and Thor with a knife before stabbing himself with the same knife out of grief, then that also would have changed Odin's mind about adopting Loki.

Hindsight always is twenty-twenty.

"I'm guessing you got out of the dress pretty quickly after that?" Harry asked, trying to prompt Thor to continue on with his story.

"I did, though Loki decided to stay in his dress for the rest of the day – I think he liked it, although it might also have been because it made father angry," Thor said, causing Harry to smile in amusement.

In her world, Thor had gone to Durmstrang, and while she never met her world's Thor she knew his wand had been cypress, which definitely fit well with this Thor's personality. Harry couldn't help but think that, if Thor had gone to Hogwarts, he would have been put in Gryffindor.

Actually, if Harry was being honest with herself, Thor was exactly how she always imagined Godric Gryffindor to be – brave, chivalrous, boisterous, relaxed with an undercurrent of danger, understanding.

Drinking with Thor was like partying in the Gryffindor common room after winning a quidditch match – her glass was always full and there was a never ending supply of humorous stories to enjoy.

"And what about you? I don't believe we were properly introduced," Thor said, rounding on Harry.

Harry stilled at Thor's change of subject, her glass of beer halfway to her lips. She thought back on her meeting with Thor and realized that she never told him her name.

"Oh, right, I'm Harry, Harry Peverrel," Harry said, holding out her free hand for Thor to take. He took it and gave it a forceful shake.

"And I am Thor, of Asgard," he told her, causing Harry to smile.

"Yeah, I know," she said, finally taking her drink.

"So what about you? What has caused a warrior such as yourself to resort to magic tricks in order to get by?" Thor asked, causing Harry to choke on her beer in surprise.

"What?" she coughed out, causing Thor to pat her on the back.

"I am as curious about you as you are about me. It has been a while since I have met a seidhr who carries themselves like a warrior – and never on Midgard. I actually didn't realize the seidhr still existed, I had thought they were all wiped out by now," Thor explained in a calm tone.

Harry gave Thor a 'deer-in-the-headlights' look as she got her bearings.

"What makes you think I'm a seidhr?" she asked warily, unsure what it meant to be seidhr but still recognizing the word. If she was correct, seidhr were magical people in Norse mythology, though she could be wrong.

"Your eyes, coupled with your knowledge of Elder Futhark and your magic trick in the park," Thor explained, taking a sip from his own glass.

"My eyes?" Harry asked, still not sure how that tipped Thor off to her being magical.

"Green eyes are a common attribute amongst the seidhr, though only those with real magic have a certain glow to their eyes that most others do not have – I know of the glow only because my mother and brother both had it when they were alive; and you possess the glow as well," Thor told Harry, his eyes unfocused as he descended into a memory.

Harry drew back in surprise.

"Wait, Frigga and Loki are dead?" Harry asked, her voice a mixture of shock and grief. Thor nodded his head sadly, causing Harry to gape in despair.

"I'm sorry for your losses," Harry told Thor, genuinely upset over his revelation. She had read Norse mythology as a child while hiding out in the library, and she had always liked Frigga and Loki from the stories.

"Thank you," Thor replied, "And I am equally sorry for your own."

Harry looked at Thor incredulously.

"Okay, you really need to stop doing that," she told him as she waved her hand around, as if to gesture what 'that' was.

"Doing what?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Whatever this is; the guessing things correctly about me, because it's starting to freak me out."

"You are a seidhr and a warrior who has met Death and lived. It is not a guess to say you have lost people you loved," Thor said, his voice filled with sympathy.

They descended into silence after that, Harry shaking her head in wonder while Thor looked up at the TV that was on, smiling happily at whatever was being shown.

Harry was impressed by how much Thor was able to deduce about her through their short time together, though she wasn't sure why; Thor obviously wasn't an idiot, but he did have an image of being the stereotypical brawn. The fact that he knew more than he let on made Harry like him even more, which was an impressive feat since she had already been equating him with Godric Gryffindor.

"Hey Thor! There you are," Darcy said as she and another pretty woman came walking up to Thor and Harry.

"Darcy, Jane!" Thor said, his face lighting up when he set his eyes on Jane.

Jane had light brown hair and a pleasant face, and Harry watched as Thor stood up to stand right beside her. Their love was palpable and a bit sickening in the way most couples in love usually are.

"Hey, you're the witch from the park," Darcy said as she came over to where Harry was seated. She sat down in Thor's vacant seat, Thor and Jane talking together, lost in their own little world.

"Harry," she said, holding out her hand in introduction.

"Darcy," she replied, shaking her hand in a joking manner. Harry smiled at Darcy, who reminded her of a combination of Ginny and Fred and George.

"So what's the occasion?" Harry asked, nodding to the fancy clothes Jane and Darcy were wearing.

"Long story short: Jane's an astrophysicist, I'm her assistant, Thor's her boyfriend. Jane got a job offer in Paris, so we're moving over their pretty soon. This is basically our last night out before we begin packing for the move," Darcy explained casually, though Harry could hear an undertone of threat to her voice.

"Congrats," Harry said happily; Darcy shot her a look.

"You know that means you can't keep flirting with Thor," Darcy explained offhandedly. Harry started choking on her own spit.

"What?!" she exclaimed, looking at Darcy like she was crazy.

"As Jane's best friend, it is my job to make sure no one tries to take her man away from her. So I'm warning you now, if you don't back off I will taze you – I swear I will, I've already tazed Thor," Darcy threatened.

Harry looked at Darcy in utter disbelief before she started to laugh.

"I wasn't flirting with Thor," Harry said once she got her laughter under control. "We were just hanging out in a friendly way. I don't even like Thor like that – he's not my type."

Darcy raised an eyebrow, her face clearly displaying her skepticism at Harry's confession.

"What is your type?" she asked curiously, tilting her head and resting her chin in her hand.

"I don't have one," Harry replied, shrugging her shoulders.

Harry felt weird having this conversation with a stranger who had just accused her of flirting with Thor.

"Alright, whatever you say," Darcy said, dropping the subject. She must have believed Harry because she didn't bring up the accusation again.

Harry sat awkwardly as she drank the rest of her beer. She watched as Darcy joined Thor and Jane in their conversation, effectively blocking Harry out.

She finished the rest of her beer and left the pub without drawing attention to herself.

And if she noticed Thor watching her as she left, she tried not to dwell on it.

* * *

It was a beautiful day in June, and Harry was out in Trafalgar Square performing her act for a small group of people. In the months she had been living on the streets in London, she had finally incorporated another part of her act – she now was able to change a card into a bouquet of flowers and was able to revert the flowers back into the card without running into a mishap.

It was mid-afternoon and Harry had been performing her tricks since the early morning. She learned early on that the longer she performed the more money she would accumulate.

"Is this your card?" Harry asked the man in front of her; the man was young, probably in his late twenties, with short, curly brown hair. A young woman around his age stood next to him; she was short, with brown hair and brown eyes.

"No," he replied in a Scottish accent, his face showing his disappointment over her terrible magic trick.

"What about now?" Harry asked, holding out the changed card for the couple to see.

She watched as the two looked at the card in shock before pouncing on the card with a scientific curiosity.

"How'd you do that?" the man asked, his accent thick causing his words to slur.

Harry was going to respond but couldn't get a word in edgewise to the sudden spewing of theories that were being bounced back and forth between the pair; they were speaking primarily in scientific terms and Harry had to resist the urge to step away from the two of them.

Watching the couple was like what Harry imagined Hermione would be like if she was ever cloned and could talk to herself – talking a mile a minute about things no one else could follow.

"Fitzsimmons!" a man called out, causing the pair to turn and look.

The man was older than the two, with black hair and an American accent.

"Hold on Ward," the Scotsman yelled back, causing the man, Ward, to look sternly at the pair.

"On second thought, we're coming," the woman answered back in an English accent, handing Harry her card back.

"Very nice trick," she continued, before dragging the protesting man towards the American.

Harry shook her head as they left, as if trying to shake away how weird the whole exchange had been. She didn't have much time to dwell on it before another group of people wanted to see her trick.

An hour more had passed since the couple, and Harry noticed out of the corner of her eye as a man stopped and stood within direct eyesight of Harry. Normally some guy stopping to watch Harry perform her tricks would be fine, however the man gave Harry a bad feeling, and Harry knew to not ignore bad feelings.

She continued to entertain people while she kept an eye on the man. He was tall, had black skin, and looked as though he had burn scars on the right side of his face. Harry could tell he had a fake leg by the way he held himself, and if she had to guess she would say he also had a fake eye, though it was hard to tell from a distance.

He watched with an impassive face, watching Harry intently but not seeing what she was doing. After a few minutes under his constant gaze, Harry was beginning to get frustrated.

She packed up, putting the money she made into her pouch and putting the hat on her head, before marching over to the man, a stern expression on her face.

"What the bloody hell is your problem, mate?" she demanded once she was within his hearing range. The man momentarily looked surprised before falling back into his blank face.

Harry knew engaging the man was a stupid decision, however she was in a crowded area and she highly doubted the man would do anything in front of a mass of people. She also didn't want to be stalked or kidnapped by the man – if he was going to do anything to her then she wanted it to be on her terms.

Besides, the fact that the man didn't walk away when she stormed over to him told her that he just wanted to talk.

The man stood still, staring straight at Harry as if she hadn't just talked. Scowling, Harry snapped her finger in front of what she presumed to be his good eye, her other hand placed on her hip in the same way Mrs. Weasley would do when she was scolding the twins.

"Oi! Mate, your problem? The bloody hell is it?" she asked again, speaking slowly and enunciating her words.

Harry watched as the man's face changed from the blank stare to a mask of determination.

"Miss. Peverell, my name is Mike Peterson, and I believe I can help you with your current problem," the man said in a pained voice, as if he was being forced to act against his will.

Harry raised her eyebrows suspiciously, looking at Peterson like he was an idiot.

"Which one? I have quite a few problems that I am currently dealing with," she said.

"Your surveillance problem," he answered, finally looking away from Harry in order to look at the dozens of cameras that were peppered around the square.

"What, with SHIELD?" Harry asked with a snort. She wouldn't necessarily count SHIELD as a problem – an annoyance, yes, but not a problem.

At the present moment her problems aligned more with the basic survival needs: food, water, shelter, hygiene. Living a life without her magical crutch was terrible.

"Yes, with SHIELD. I can help you, but this conversation would be better suited in a more private place," he said, and Harry noticed how he involuntarily twitched when he said SHIELD, which was not a good sign.

She looked at all the people around them at Peterson's words, noticing just how many people there were, before turning back to look at him.

"I'd prefer to stay here, thanks," she told him, standing up straight as she talked.

"What I wish to discuss with you is not for public ears," he said, jaw clenching.

"Then it's not a conversation I wish to have. Good day," Harry replied, turning around to leave.

"Wait," he called out, and Harry turned back around to face him.

"What now?" she asked with a glare.

"You're homeless, right? You need food, and shelter, and a sense of purpose? We can give you that. We can guarantee you so many things – power, for instance."

Harry stared at the man, her bad feeling growing as he spoke. His tone and posture didn't match – his words promised hope, but his voice and body told Harry to run away as fast as she could.

She was intrigued and frightened for the man – was he a victim forced to do something against his will?

"Couple of questions," she said instead of running. "One, who's this 'we?' And two, do you think I'm petty enough to accept your bloody sketchy offer?"

Panic crossed Peterson's face at Harry's questions, and he took a step closer to Harry, his voice in a hushed whisper.

"SHIELD will never leave you alone. They have you down as an 0-8-4 – they won't leave you until they find out what you are, and even then they'll lock you up. We can help – let us help."

"Okay, you didn't answer either of my questions, and now I just have more. For instance, what is an oh-eight-four, and who are you working for that you know what SHIELD is doing even though you aren't a part of SHIELD yourself?"

Harry's voice grew louder as she asked her questions, her anger coming into play. She didn't have the patience to be dealing with manipulative people right now – or ever again.

Peterson's face showed his internal battle he had over whether he should answer her questions or not. He looked around, paranoid, before turning back to Harry.

"I work for someone known as the Clairvoyant – he knows everything about everyone, so he knows about your relationship with SHIELD. He wants to meet with you in order to get to know you better. He says you have potential," he said, his voice coming out fast, as if saying it all at once would lessen any punishment he was expecting to receive.

Harry snorted her derision at his explanation.

"You kind of got yourself in a contradiction there," Harry stated, her mind trying to recall why 'the Clairvoyant' sounded familiar to her. "After all, if this supposed 'Clairvoyant' is supposed to know everything about me, then why would he want to have a nice 'get to know me' chat. Seems like your Clairvoyant is a fucking fraud."

And just like that, the memory of Fury's interrogation all those months ago came back into Harry's mind. He had asked if she worked for the Clairvoyant, who Harry had never heard of before.

Which means the Clairvoyant was bad news.

"You're blocked from his view," he explained, "he knows about you through SHIELD, but he can't actually see you."

"Funny, isn't that what all frauds say?" she asked spitefully. Harry shook her head at Peterson, before turning away.

"Right, well, this was a bloody waste of time. I'm just going to go, and if I ever see you again I'm calling the police," she said with her back to him.

However before she could walk away, he grabbed her left arm in a vice-grip.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave," he said, pulling Harry closer to him.

"Excuse you!" Harry exclaimed as she stumbled from the force of his tugging.

"The Clairvoyant wants you – "

"Why, so he can have another lap dog in his possession? Fuck you and fuck him. I refuse to be anyone's boot-licker, especially not to some guy who hides his real identity behind a really stupid bloody name. Now LET ME GO!" Harry yelled as she tried to yank her arm out of Peterson's grasp.

His grip tightened and Harry held back a wince of pain, her arm feeling like it was breaking under the force of his hold. He started to drag her away, and Harry tried to resist, her arm acting like a rope in their game of tug-of-war.

They were starting to cause a commotion, and Harry was glad to see the number of people who began to take notice of her present situation.

"Mr. Peterson, unhand the Miss. Peverell, please," a male voice commanded from behind Harry, and she turned away from Peterson to see a group of six people fanning out in a semi-circle around the two of them.

Harry was quick to spot the three people from earlier in the day – the Scotsman, the English woman, and the American man, Ward – all of whom were holding silvery guns that had glowing blue liquid contained within. Out of the three Ward looked to be the most comfortable holding the gun, while the Scotsman looked semi-confident and the woman looked as if the gun was going to bite her at any given moment.

Of the other three in the group, two were women and one was the man who talked. One of the woman, who was older and Asian, was closest to her and Mike, and looked like someone Harry did not want to piss off. The other woman was young, probably a year or two older than Harry herself, with brown hair and an honest face.

The man who spoke wore a suit and tie, and had receding brown hair. He was clearly the leader of the group and was standing protectively next to the young woman.

At the man's command, Peterson pulled Harry close to him, his right arm wrapping around Harry's waist, pinning her arms down, while his left hand let go of her arm and clenched her throat instead. Harry's eyes widened as his grip tightened on her throat, and she had to will herself not to panic, fearful that her magic might make an unwanted appearance at the present time.

She had not spent months not blatantly using her magic just so she could perform accidental magic in front of a bunch of SHIELD agents.

The three with the guns pointed them at Peterson, the older woman stopping her sneak attack when she noticed Peterson's grip getting tighter, while the other man watched on in disappointment.

"Mike, don't do this, we can help you," the younger woman said, taking a step forward away from the man.

"Skye, you're alive?" Peterson asked in amazement, though his grip didn't slacken, much to Harry's vexation.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," the woman, Skye, replied in anger. Peterson's fingers twitched at Harry's throat, causing Harry to roll her eyes.

She couldn't breathe and her vision was beginning to go grey around the edges, and she felt her magic screaming out to be used. Her resolve set, Harry knew what she had to do.

Before Peterson could respond, she brought her right arm up as much as she could from his grasp, and thrust her elbow down into his side, her magic helping to give her hit more force as it made impact, like a fist in a boxing glove.

While Peterson reacted to the hit, Harry grabbed hold of his right arm with her right hand and proceeded to turn with his arm as she threw it off her waist; luckily Peterson had slackened his grip on her neck, and so she was able to turn without twisting it.

Once she was facing Peterson she reached up with her right hand and pulled his hand off of her neck by his wrist.

With her left hand, she allowed her magic to flow around it and, willing her magic to produce a stunner, reached back and punched Peterson in his right temple with her fist.

With a sickening 'bam,' Peterson collapsed onto the ground, Harry's magic stunning him as soon as she hit him.

It took less than three seconds for Harry to stun Peterson, and as she rubbed her neck she looked around at the others to see varying looks of shock on their faces.

Harry, realizing how weird it must look for someone her size and apparent skill level to have knocked unconscious a man with enough strength to choke her to death with one hand, decided that she would have to rennervate the man.

And nothing woke a man up from a stunner quite like a kick to the groin.

Harry, having been known to play a game of football or two, kicked at Peterson's crotch like she was kicking a penalty.

Peterson's eyes snapped open as he cried out in pain, his hands flying to cover his sensitive area.

Harry watched in amusement as the agents sprung into action, the older woman agent grabbing Peterson while the three with the weird looking guns moved in to cover her.

Harry turned around to the other two agents, the man and Skye, who looked amused and awed respectively.

"Can I leave now?" Harry asked them, her voice raspy.

"Just a minute, Miss. Peverell. We still need to ask you a couple of questions," the man in charge said before walking over to his other teammates.

"Ward, May, make sure Peterson gets back to the Bus," he commanded, and Harry watched as Ward, the American, and May, the older Asian woman, apprehended Peterson.

"Fitz, Simmons, get the rest of the equipment and head back to the Bus as well. Skye and I will be along shortly," the man continued, and Harry watched as the couple from earlier in the day left their area. Harry realized a bit too late that their names were Fitz and Simmons, not Fitzsimmons like she had thought earlier – though she wasn't sure which one was which.

Once the agents had left on their jobs, Harry turned to look at Skye.

"So are you lot SHIELD, then?" Harry asked her, her voice still croaking.

"Yes, we are," she replied, looking at Harry curiously.

"Bloody brilliant," Harry whispered under her breath, causing her to start coughing.

"Miss. Peverell, I am Agent Phil Coulson, of SHIELD. I have a few questions I would like to ask you about your run in with Mr. Peterson," Coulson explained as Harry got her coughing under control.

She looked at Agent Coulson with a wary eye, knowing she had heard of him somewhere before.

"Of course, what do my benevolent overlords want to know?" Harry asked sarcastically, causing Couslon to give a tight smile.

"What is your relationship with Mr. Peterson?" he asked immediately, causing Harry to roll her eyes.

"You know, I normally don't count people who strangle me in fond enough regard to say they have any form of relationship with me. If you must know, I only met him today. He had been watching me for a couple of minutes like a creep before I engaged him to find out what his deal was. Suffice to say you saw the end result of our conversation," Harry explained, her voice growing stronger the longer she talked.

"And what did Mr. Peterson want with you?" Coulson continued his questioning.

"I don't know, something about him offering me power and a new life, and how he works for a Clairvoyant or something, and how you lot have me down as an oh-eight-four, whatever that means. All in all it was the standard offer all stereotypical villains give to poor, unsuspecting people – except I'm not an idiot."

"Wait, you're an 0-8-4?" Skye asked suddenly, her curiosity spilling out of her voice, her face hopeful. Coulson looked between the two women with an unidentifiable look, while Harry looked confused.

"I don't know. What is it?" Harry asked, looking between the two agents expecting a response.

"It's a code given to denote and object of unknown origin," Coulson explained, giving Skye a meaningful glance.

"Last time I checked, I wasn't an object. But great way to dehumanize me," Harry said sarcastically. Skye's lips twitched in amusement, though she must have realized something because she looked preoccupied with her thoughts.

"Anything else you wish to add?" Coulson asked, trying to draw attention away from her previous question.

"Yeah, aren't you supposed to be dead?" Harry asked, pointing at Coulson. She remembered why his name sounded so familiar at least – Steve felt a bit of guilt over the fact that Coulson had died before Steve was able to sign his vintage Captain America trading cards.

"Anything else?" Coulson asked again, trying to divert the topic to something else.

"Steve signed your cards anyway; pretty sure if you tell him that you're alive, he'll be happy to give them to you," Harry told him, watching with amusement as Coulson tried to contain his excitement.

"That's good to know. Unfortunately, no one is supposed to know that I'm alive – including the Avengers," Coulson said, disappointment coloring his voice.

"Well, you're doing a wonderful job of that," Harry replied, motioning to all the people looking in their direction.

"Do you have any other information in regard to Mr. Peterson?" Couslon asked, ignoring Harry's jab.

"Nope," Harry replied, popping the 'p.'

"Very well, thank you for your cooperation. Skye, let's head back to the Bus," Couslon commanded, motioning for Skye to walk with him.

"Wait, so you lot are just going to leave me, even though there is a megalomaniac who has taken an unhealthy interest in me that will jeopardize my safety, without even giving me added protection?" Harry asked incredulously, though she wasn't sure why she was so surprised – she was talking to SHIELD, after all.

"Your file says that you don't want to interact directly with SHIELD agents for longer than you have to; we will be keeping an extra close eye on you now, just not in person," Couslon explained with a smile before walking away with a little wave goodbye.

Harry sighed as soon as they left, pinching the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes.

"Fucking fantastic."

* * *

July 4th found Harry walking around a small park somewhere in west London as she tried to resist the urge to get in contact with Steve to wish him a happy birthday. It was difficult; Harry was missing her friend, and it had been over six months since she had last spoken to him.

However she knew that she couldn't actually call him on account of her not knowing his new phone number. She sat down on a swing, swaying back and forth in her melancholy.

She missed Steve, and Neville, and Ron, and Hermione, and Ginny, and Luna. She missed all her friends and family, and she was tired of not having a home. She was tired of the guilt she felt over leaving her godson, Teddy, behind; of leaving her friends behind.

She was homesick and defeated and she hated both of those feelings.

Harry was shaken out of her depression by a sudden commotion coming from a birthday party over by the park tables. She could see through the crowd of people forming that there were two children being yelled at by a woman who was obviously not related to the children.

Feeling recklessly angry, Harry got up from the swing and marched over to the birthday party in order to assess the situation better.

"You both have ruined my son's party. How dare you, you utter idiots!" the woman was yelling at the two children, who Harry could see were twins.

She could also see that one of them was completely drenched in fruit punch, his dirty blond hair plastered to his face, while his brother had his face and hair completely covered in cake. The brothers looked close to tears.

And the birthday boy was smiling maliciously behind his mother, his friends all trying to contain their amusement over the predicament the boys found themselves to be in.

"Oi, what's going on here?" Harry asked, cutting off the mother's angry rant at the two five year olds.

"Excuse you, this doesn't concern you," the woman snarled, irritated that Harry would interrupt her.

"Uh, actually, it kind of does. You're yelling at two children, which makes you an arse, and it always concerns me when an arse is allowed to look after children," Harry said plainly, causing the woman to turn all her attention onto Harry and off the kids.

"You have no right to talk to me like that," the woman snapped, causing Harry to roll her eyes. "You have no idea what these cretins did! How they have completely ruined my son's birthday!"

Harry looked down at the two boys, over to the birthday boy, and then back up to the woman.

"It's pretty obvious to me what happened. Your son forced their heads down into the punch bowl and the cake respectively because you're raising a bully; that, of course, isn't surprising seeing as how I bet you didn't even asked the boys what had happened. So get that stick out of your arse and back the bloody hell off," Harry warned, glaring at woman.

The mother spluttered, unable to string together a coherent rebuttal out of being too flustered to speak. Harry gave the woman a mocking smile before turning to the two boys.

"Come on then, let's get you two cleaned up," she said, holding out her hands for the boys to take. They looked at her with identical, protuberant, silvery grey eyes that reminded Harry of Luna.

They grasped her hands hesitantly, as if they weren't sure of her sincerity, and Harry led them to the bathroom to get them cleaned up. She wet a couple of paper towels and handed them to the boys, before she sat down on the bathroom floor so she was less imposing on the two.

They didn't really grasp the concept of cleaning themselves off with the wet towels and Harry, after gaining their permission, helped clean the cake and juice off their faces and out of their hair.

Once satisfied that the boys were now presentable, Harry tossed the dirty towels into the trash, giving a whoop of joy as the towels made it into the bin in one throw. She saw the two boys smile at her antics, and Harry smiled back at them from her position on the floor.

"Now that that's all done; my name is Harry, what are your names?" she asked, holding out her hands for the boys to shake, her arms crossed so the handshakes would be less awkward.

They were quiet for a couple of seconds, as if debating whether they should talk to her.

"I'm Lorcan," cake boy said.

"I'm Lysander," juice boy said.

"Very nice to meet you, Lorcan, Lysander," Harry said, feeling confident that those were their names and that they weren't trying to pull a 'Gred and Forge' on her.

"How did you know?" Lorcan asked his voice shaky, as if he was fearful that she was going to yell abuse at him at any given second.

"What? About the cake and juice bit?" she asked, watching as the twins nodded their heads. "Oh, that's simple – when I was four my cousin did something similar to me with a cake my aunt had made for this big company party. Suffice it to say she was less than pleased and I was punished for what my cousin did to me. Kids can be so unoriginal sometimes, you know?"

She gave the boys a smile as they looked at her in surprise.

"Now, question time: where are your parents?" she asked, placing her hands on her thighs.

"They're at work," Lysander said, and Lorcan started to fidget nervously.

"Okay," Harry said in a calm tone, "and where is your babysitter?"

"She's back at the house," Lysander continued, his and his brother's guilt being displayed in their body language.

"Let me guess: she doesn't know that you're at the park, does she?" Harry asked in amusement. She watched as they shook their heads in unison, causing Harry to smile.

"Is she awful?" Harry asked in a conspiratorial whisper. The twins nodded in unison.

"How awful?" Harry asked, genuinely concerned.

"She's mean!"

"She yells a lot!"

"She smacks us sometimes – "

"But we hadn't done nothing!"

"Whoa, okay, I get the picture," Harry said, holding her hands up in a motion to get them to stop talking. She saw them flinch when she put her hands up.

"I believe you," Harry told them as she placed her hands back onto her thighs. "Is it just your babysitter who does that or do your parents also behave like that?"

"No!"

"Our parents are great!"

"We love them," they said, horrified that Harry could suggest such a thing.

"Okay, that's good. When do your parents get back home?" Harry asked, not wanting to let the boys near any adult who thought hitting children was a good idea.

The boys fidgeted at her question, their faces falling into concentration before they gave a helpless shrug as an answer.

"You don't know," Harry stated, watching as the boys nodded. "Are your parents normally gone for long periods at a time when they work?" The boys nodded again, and Harry gave a sigh.

"When was the last time you saw your parents?" she asked sadly. Their silence said more than their fidgeting bodies could.

"Right," Harry said, clapping her hands and getting up from the floor. "Here's what we're going to do. I am going to take you boys back to your home and I am going to have a talk with your nanny. Then we're going to call your parents and see when they plan on coming home. Does that sound like a good plan?"

The twins looked scared at Harry's suggestion, but nodded in agreement anyway.

"Good, now, where is your house?"

Ten minutes later, Harry was giving a piggy-back ride to Lorcan while Lysander held her hand, dragging her along in the direction of their house.

They arrived to a three-story town house; it looked like her home at number 12 Grimmauld Place, except it was much brighter and looked far more welcoming.

Harry bent down to drop Lorcan off from her back, and went up to the door, giving it a knock. Harry noticed that the door was ajar, just a tiny bit, and an uneasy feeling descended on her.

"Okay, Lorcan, Lysander, wait out here for a couple minutes, I'll be right out," Harry told them, her command clear in her voice; the boys nodded in understanding.

Harry moved the sleeve on her coat down so it covered her hand, pushing open the door with it so as not to leave fingerprints. Immediately the smell of blood assaulted Harry's nose and, taking a shallow breath, Harry moved further into the house, pausing once she reached the living room.

The smell of dead bodies hit Harry like a bludger, and she could see the bodies of a man and a woman lying in the giant puddle of blood that was once a hardwood floor. The woman had multiple bullet wounds in her chest, while the man had one right at his temple.

A murder and a suicide – two things Harry did not need right now.

Harry didn't move into the living room, and making sure not to destroy the crime scene, went into the kitchen to where the phone was located. She picked up the phone with her covered hand, dialing the police through the fabric of her shirt.

"Hello, this is 999, what is your emergency?"

"Hello, my name is Harry Peverell, I am reporting a crime scene," she said, quickly giving the address of the house when prompted. A few quick words later, Harry was left with an ended call and had discovered the list of contact information Lorcan and Lysander's parents left for the nanny.

The main thing she noticed about the list was that it was written on a SHIELD memo pad – which certainly explained why the twins hadn't seen their parents in a while.

Must be hard having SHIELD agents for parents.

She grabbed the list and left the house. She closed the front door and was glad to see Lorcan and Lysander sitting down on the steps leading up to the house.

"Okay, change of plans," Harry said, trying to put on a cheerful face as she sat down between them. "We are going to wait out here until the police come, and in the meantime we are going to try and get in contact with your parents."

The boys' eyes widened in horror.

"Did we do something wrong?"

"We didn't mean to!"

"Don't call the police on us!"

Realization hit Harry quickly after that.

"No, no, don't worry – I didn't call the police on you two. You both have done nothing wrong; I called them for a different reason entirely. There is no need to panic, you both are fine," Harry told them in a calm voice, trying to get them to see that they weren't in trouble.

Once she was sure the boys wouldn't try to run away from her out of fear of the police, Harry looked down at the list of contact information, stopping once she noticed a number that wasn't for general emergencies.

She dialed the number and waited for an answer. The phone rang several times before the answering machine took over.

"_Hello, you've reached to answering machine of Dr. Rolf Scamander. Please leave your name and contact information at the tone and I will get back to you as soon as I can."_

Harry heard a beep and took a deep breath.

"Hello Dr. Scamander, my name is Harry Peverell and I have unfortunate news regarding your hired help for Lorcan and Lysander. Don't worry, the boys are fine, however I can't say as much for your nanny and the living room. Please call your home phone as soon as you get this message. Thank you."

Harry winced as she hung up, not comfortable leaving phone messages and knowing that her message made her sound like a kidnapper or something equally as terrible.

Harry looked at the last number on the list and, breathing deeply, dialed the number into the phone as well.

The phone rang several times before the answering machine answered once again.

"_Hi there, you have reached the answering machine of Dr. Luna Lovegood. I am not able to answer my phone right now, but if you leave your name and information then I will be happy to call you back. Thank you." _

Harry sat in shock over the message. It was Luna – it was her voice and Harry couldn't believe it. She had stumbled across this alternate universe Luna, which was something Harry didn't think she would ever do.

It had been months since she had been dropped off in London and she hadn't run across any of her friend's counterparts at any point.

And now she found Luna and her mind couldn't process it.

It was Luna.

But not Luna.

Harry didn't know whether to be ecstatic or if she should run away.

She looked down at Lorcan and Lysander, and she felt like hitting herself. They reminded her of Luna because _they were Luna's kids._

The dial tone from the phone snapped Harry out of her shock, and she came to the realization that she must have left Luna a message of just her breathing – which was creepy.

Dialing Luna's number again, Harry waited for the answering machine to pick up and, trying to compose herself during the message, Harry took a deep breath.

"Hi Lu- Ms. – Dr. Lovegood," Harry winced, quickly correcting herself every time she made a mistake, "sorry about your previous message – I was a bit preoccupied at the time. I just wanted to call to tell you that there has been an unfortunate incident at your house that involved your nanny, and that your children are safe. If you could actually find time away from your work to get back home, that would be great. Lo- Okay bye," Harry said, cutting herself off from saying 'love you' as a goodbye.

She could say that to her Luna, but this Luna was not _her_ Luna.

Luna but not Luna.

Harry banged the phone against her forehead, realizing too late that she hadn't given her name in Luna's message.

"Are you okay?" Lysander asked, looking at Harry weirdly.

"No," Harry stated blandly. She was having a rough time.

"Is Belinda okay?" Lorcan asked, looking worriedly at Harry.

"Is Belinda your nanny?" Harry asked, dread in her voice.

"Yes," the twins answered in unison, causing Harry to sigh.

"No, she is not okay," Harry said, not wanting to explain to the two boys that their nanny was dead. Fortunately, Harry could hear sirens as the police came up the street.

The next couple of hours passed by in a daze for Harry. She was questioned by a policewoman as crime scene investigators went in to inspect the house. Harry answered honestly; she was glad to see that the policewoman didn't suspect Harry of any foul play.

Then came the terrible moment where Harry had to explain to the twins that their nanny was dead. They of course were sad, though Harry could tell they were more worried than distraught. They kept closer to Harry after that, wanting her to be present when the police questioned them about their day.

Satisfied with their testimony, Harry and the boys were driven to Scotland Yard so they had somewhere to stay while the inspectors tried to contact Luna and her husband. The three were kept occupied with puzzles and paper and pens, which led to the twins drawing to pass the time and Harry writing out magical runes just for the heck of it.

By nightfall, the inspectors still were unable to contact either Dr. Rolf Scamander, or his wife Dr. Luna Lovegood-Scamander. Harry stayed with the boys through dinner and into the night, acting as a pillow for the boys as they fell asleep on her while they sat on a couch in an empty office.

She could have left hours ago, but she stayed. She was far too invested into the boys' wellbeing to just leave them without knowing if they would see their parents again.

Or if they would be shipped off into foster care instead.

Harry fell asleep with memories of Luna running through her head – of Butterbeer cap necklaces, of Dirigible plum earrings, of spectrespecs and the lion head hat. Of Luna when they first met; of her during the DA meetings; of her defacing the Great Hall with Ginny and Harry during Harry's last year; of Luna being taken by Death Eaters off the Hogwarts Express that winter break; of Luna drunk on firewhiskey.

* * *

"They like you."

Harry's eyes snapped open from her sleep, her ears recognizing Luna's voice from anywhere.

Luna Lovegood sat in a chair across from the couch Harry and the boys were sitting on – Harry startled into being wide awake, while the boys continued to sleep peacefully.

Harry stared at Luna in wonder – her waist-length dirty blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail, her silvery eyes so much like her son's.

The more Harry looked, though, the more off-putting looking at Luna was. She was wearing sensible clothes – black trousers and a collared shirt – far different to the colorful clothes and handcrafted jewelry her Luna loved to wear. The Luna in front of her also looked far more grounded in reality, like she would be skeptical of crumple-horned snorkacks and nargles.

She looked smart, but not wise, not understanding.

Luna, but not Luna.

"What?" Harry asked. She was on the verge of tears but she was able to contain them.

"My sons, they like you," she repeated in Luna's voice, but it wasn't Luna.

Harry's heart hurt, like a rubber band snapping back into place after being stretched to its breaking point.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, maneuvering in her seat to get more comfortable. Lorcan and Lysander had their heads in her lap, using her thighs as a pillow. She placed her hands on their shoulders, a small smile on her face.

"Well, I like them too. They're good kids," Harry continued, looking up at imposter-Luna.

Luna gave a sad smile, looking at her boys.

"Yes, they are. I am sad that I have to be away from them for so long, but duty calls," Luna said, causing Harry to frown.

"Why can't you do both? Look after the boys and work?" Harry asked, a hint of judgement in her voice.

"It is difficult to live a normal life when you dissect aliens for a living. Though I wouldn't expect an 0-8-4 to understand," she said, her amendment phrased as a challenge. Harry looked at Luna incredulously.

"Okay, I am not an object. My name is Harry Peverell, I prefer to go by the pronoun she/her, etcetera, not by 'it,'" Harry said, rolling her eyes at SHIELDs stupid use of codenames.

"And yet you aren't arguing against the fact you have an unknown origin," Luna countered, smiling slightly.

"I know exactly what my origin is – just because you lot haven't figured it out yet doesn't mean its unknown," Harry snorted out, still peeved at Luna's hidden insult.

"Touché," Luna replied, nodding her head in acknowledgement of Harry's point.

They descended into silence after that, Harry feeling awkward under Luna's staring.

She was used to her Luna staring at her, but this Luna's staring just seemed wrong.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Harry said finally, realizing that Luna had known the now deceased nanny.

"Thank you," she replied sadly. "I am most upset over the circumstances. I always thought John loved Belinda, I never thought he would end up killing her."

Harry nodded her head out of something to do – John, the killer, and Belinda, the nanny, were engaged, but something went wrong and John decided it would be better if he killed Belinda and them himself.

Something about being together forever – just a terrible reason to kill someone you love.

"I won't lie, I am dreading trying to find another nanny to take Belinda's place. Finding Belinda was difficult; I expect this time around it will be just as hard – if not harder."

Harry hummed absentmindedly, realizing suddenly that she had been stroking the boys' hair as they slept. She stopped, much to Luna's amusement.

"Do you want to be our new nanny?" Luna asked suddenly. Harry looked at Luna like she was insane.

"What?"

"Do you want to be our nanny? I would feel better if you took the position; the boys like you and you obviously like them. I like the idea, I even feel comforted knowing that you would look after them," Luna explained simply, as if the idea of Harry becoming a nanny was an easy leap of logic to make.

"You like the idea of me taking care of your children even if I am an oh-eight-four and on SHIELD's shit-list?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well, as you explained yourself, you are neither an object nor do you have an unknown origin, so you hardly count as an 0-8-4. Besides, as a SHIELD agent I can tell you that you are not on our 'shit-list,'" she said, putting air quotes over 'shit-list,' while raising an eyebrow at Harry's vocabulary choice.

"If you want to be our nanny you are guaranteed a room, a salary, and food, along with holidays," Luna explained, causing Harry to pause in her objections.

At the present moment in her life the offer was tempting – taking care of Lorcan and Lysander and getting a place to stay was a nice idea – but it also meant that Harry would be living in Not-Luna's house.

"I don't know," Harry began, but her objections dropped when she saw Luna giving her the puppy eyes.

Harry never could say no to Luna's puppy eyes, no matter the universe.

"Okay, fine. I'll be your nanny."

* * *

Author's Note:

Thanks again for the reviews and the support. Because of all the positive responses I've been getting I'm going to have a little contest.

If you have noticed, I have been giving wands to the Avengers and Fury: Tony Stark has hornbeam, Nick Fury has vine, Clint Barton has cedar, Natasha Romanoff has alder, and Thor has cypress. I had paired the characters with wand woods based on the Pottermore descriptions (which you can find if you search for wand wood meanings for Pottermore).

The challenge I have for you is this: the first person to correctly guess the wand woods for Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, and Harry's bracelets, will get a prize that I have yet to determine, but will probably be a one-shot based off a prompt from within this universe, and will definitely be negotiated with the winner.

Also, I do not own the characters from the TV show Agents of SHIELD. Also I hope that the whole bit with the Agents of SHIELD wasn't too spoilery for people who either watch the show or have not seen it.

Anyway, thanks again and happy Monday.


	11. Chapter 10

"Come on boys, the sooner you start your homework, the sooner it's finished, the sooner you can play," Harry explained to Lorcan and Lysander. The boys were hiding in their room, though Harry could easily spot Lorcan behind the curtains and Lysander under the bed.

"We're not here," Lysander said, his voice muffled from him speaking into the floor.

"Then how can I hear you?" Harry asked, folding her arms over her chest, her voice amused.

"We're ghosts. Oooooh," Lorcan said, waving his arms around. Harry rolled her eyes as she walked over to the curtains.

"I've met ghosts – I'm friends with ghosts –and so I have the authority to say that, no," Harry said, throwing the curtain off of Lorcan, "you are not ghosts."

Lorcan looked up at Harry with awe on his face.

"You've met ghosts?" Lysander asked, crawling out from under his bed.

"Oh yeah, loads of 'em," Harry replied, turning to look over at Lysander. "Once when I was twelve my friends and I went to one of their Deathday Parties –our ghost friend, Sir Nearly Headless Nick, was having his 500th Deathday celebration."

Harry smiled down at the twins as they gaped up at her in astonishment. Hopefully they were now too amazed to question her about why they should do their homework.

"Word from experience," Harry continued as she herded the boys from their room, "if you're ever invited to a Deathday party from a ghost-friend, make sure you eat before you go. Trust me, ghosts do not have good catering."

"What's catering?" Lysander asked, his eyebrows drawn in confusion.

"It's a fancy word for food at a party," Harry explained offhandedly as they entered the living room.

It was late September, and Harry had been the nanny for Lorcan and Lysander for over two months now. The living room was no longer drenched with blood; in fact it looked as though it had never been the sight of a murder and suicide, which was a very good thing.

"Now, get your homework and let's do it together," Harry said, clapping her hands and waiting for them to get to work. The boys groaned, though at five years old Harry couldn't see what they were complaining about. It's not like they had to write essays or anything – their homework was just simple math and practicing the alphabet.

"Come on, if we work together it will go by faster," Harry told them, which luckily was what they wanted to hear. They went to get their homework, and Harry went to get the three of them milk to drink.

As she was pouring the milk into three cups, Harry felt a tug in her abdomen, her only warning that someone had tripped her wards.

Harry, in her first week as a nanny, had set up wards around the house and in all the rooms in order to keep a better eye on the twins' safety. The ward that had been tripped was the one she set up outside to warn her of people standing around on the porch. It was there to primarily give her enough warning so she could answer the door before the twins could.

She finished pouring out the milk and, picking up two of the glasses, walked back into the living room where Lorcan and Lysander were sat at the coffee table, their homework out before them.

Harry frowned in concentration as she placed the cups of milk in front of the twins. Whoever was on the porch was obviously not a threat since they hadn't tripped any of her other wards, however they hadn't left, meaning they were just standing right outside the front door.

"You two stay here until I say it's okay to leave," Harry commanded, watching as the two boys looked at her with wide eyes while they nodded their heads in understanding.

She made her way over to the front door where she could hear voices arguing behind it in muffled tones.

Harry could hear four different voices arguing, one of which was very familiar to Harry. Her heart pounded in her chest as she crept silently to the door – what was he doing here?

She was about to open it, but the doorbell rang before she could even grasp the handle.

"Stark!" a muffled yell exclaimed, causing Harry to draw her eyebrows up in curiosity.

She swung the door open and was greeted with the sight of four people on the porch – four people who she recognized right away.

Dr. Bruce Banner was on the steps, as if he was trying to get the others to leave through example. Pepper Potts stood behind Tony Stark, an exasperated expression on her face, while Stark had a 'shit-eating grin' on his. They were opposite of Steve, who looked like he wanted to strangle Stark.

"Steve?" Harry asked, pleasantly surprised over what was taking place in front of her.

"What are you doing here?" she continued, eyeing each of the four individually. Banner and Potts looked apologetic, though Harry could see that they weren't _that _apologetic, Stark still looked smug, and Steve looked embarrassed.

"It's a long story."

* * *

Steve woke up in a hospital room with a pounding headache. The walls were white, the sheets were itchy, and the SHIELD logo was on just about every jar and machine he saw.

None of that was good for his headache.

"Ah, Captain, you're awake," Director Fury said on Steve's right, causing Steve to look over at the man. Steve was happy to note that Fury looked a lot better, his injuries were healing and his much more severe cuts were bandaged. Although Steve was happy to see the man healing, he was not all too pleased to see the man just yet.

"How long was I out for?" Steve asked, partly out of curiosity, partly as a joke.

"Only a couple of hours," Fury replied, walking closer to Steve's bedside. Steve nodded once before heaving himself into sitting position, wincing at the strike of pain that hit his left temple.

"What happened when I was out?" he asked getting straight to the point. He didn't want to be around Fury for any longer than necessary – Steve still wasn't sure what he felt towards the man just yet.

Fury looked at Steve as though he was judging what the best thing to say would be before giving a sigh.

"After you and Mr. Barnes passed out, we were able to round up all the HYDRA agents and detained them. We also were able to secure the Zodiac and were able to power-down the machine that was going to dispense the toxin over all of DC. All in all, we started to clean up the mess," Fury finished, saying the last bit offhandedly like Steve wasn't supposed to get the hidden meaning.

"How's Bucky?" Steve asked instead of quizzing what Fury meant by 'cleaning up.'

"He's still unconscious. The doctors don't think he'll be up for another couple of hours; preliminary brain scans show he isn't comatose, he has far too much brain activity going on for him to be so," Fury explained.

Steve's jaw clenched; he had a pretty good idea about what was happening with Bucky, and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. Steve closed his eyes for a brief second and was greeted with flashes of Bucky's memories and a stabbing pain in his head. He opened his eyes to see Fury eyeing him with a critical gaze.

"And what about the Zodiac?" Steve asked, forcing himself to not think about the memories.

"We have contained it," Fury started to explain, walking around so he was at the foot of Steve's bed; they were further away now, however Fury had a much better view of Steve's face.

"Has anyone touched it?" Steve demanded, worry hidden in his tone. Thankfully, Fury shook his head minutely.

"No, Agents Romanoff and Wilson were very explicit in telling the other agents not to touch the Zodiac, even with gloves on. Fortunately we were able to procure tongs and a crate to store the Zodiac in."

"And where is the Zodiac now?" Steve inquired.

"It is safe and secure," Fury answered, causing Steve to scowl. That was not the answer he was looking for, though he knew that trying to get the answer out of Fury would be pointless at the present moment.

Silence fell between the two men as they stared at each other.

Steve knew that he and Fury had their differences, that they didn't always see eye-to-eye. Steve didn't like the way Fury ran SHIELD (_'This isn't freedom, this is fear'_) and Steve knew that the only reason why he was given such respect from the man was because Steve was one of the reasons SHIELD was founded in the first place.

And while Steve really didn't trust Fury, he knew that Fury wanted the same thing as Steve did – to protect the innocent. And even though Steve wanted to be mad at Fury, to blame everything that had happened on him, Steve knew that Fury wasn't the one responsible.

If anything, this experience had taught him that Fury, even though he was the Director of SHIELD, wasn't always the one in charge. And Steve thought that maybe – just maybe – if Fury didn't need to appease so many politicians and Council members, then he would actually be a very trustworthy man who made decisions for the good of everyone – not just the people in power, but for the civilians as well.

In his training to be a SHIELD agent, Steve was told that he needed to 'Trust the System,' and at first he was willing to do so. However, after everything he had gone through he realized that he could no longer trust the system – he couldn't sit back and blindly follow every order given to him.

He couldn't trust the system, but he could trust people.

He could trust people to do the right thing.

Looking at Fury now, Steve realized that maybe he could trust Fury; after all, Steve wasn't the only one who had been negatively affected by this recent ordeal. Fury had been with SHIELD for far longer that Steve had, and knowing that his own organization could turn on him as easily as it had must have been a real blow to Fury. The fact that he was still in charge and standing tall without constantly looking over his shoulder was really impressive, and not something Steve would be able to do with such ease.

So Steve felt like he could trust Fury – he just couldn't trust SHIELD.

And that hurt.

"What happened when you touched the Zodiac?" Fury asked. His question had cut through Steve's thoughts and the silence with equal abruptness.

"Pain, mostly," Steve answered blandly. Fury snorted at Steve's answer, apparently finding humor in it. It was nice to see Fury look human.

"Can I speak freely?" Steve asked, falling back into his soldier behavior.

"Of course," Fury said, nodding his head in permission.

"Director Fury, I respect you, and I trust that all your decisions are made with the intention of protecting civilians from threats. However, I don't trust who you work for, meaning I can't trust you when you are making decisions based off of what your bosses want you to do with the information you have.

"I know it was you who thought up the Avengers Initiative, just like I know you gave the go ahead to experiment with the Tesseract and HYDRA weapons because you were told to do so by the Security Council. If I tell you what happened when I touched the Zodiac, I want to tell my experience to the former, not the latter man."

"I can't guarantee that anything you tell me will strictly stay between the two of us," Fury responded.

"I know, but you can at least try," Steve countered.

They stared at each other, a silent understanding flowing between them. Fury gave a subtle sigh before walking over and sitting himself down in a chair next to Steve's bed.

"So what happened when you touched the Zodiac?" he asked again, relaxing in the chair. Steve didn't answer at first – he tried to think of a way to explain what had happened without sounding crazy.

"Well, there was pain," he started, deciding it would be best to just recount what had happened as it had happened, "it felt like I was being electrocuted and burned at the same time. When the pain reached my head it felt like my eyes were burning. I closed my eyes from the pain and that's when the memories started to play."

"Memories?" Fury asked, eyebrows raised, his voice curious.

"Yeah, just flashes of memories. I couldn't focus on any one of them, the pain was too much and I was seeing more than I could comprehend," Steve explained, thinking back on the slew of images he had seen.

"How do you know they were memories?" Fury asked; he tried to sound indifferent but failed spectacularly at it.

"Well, I didn't at first. All I knew was that I was seeing images that I shouldn't have been seeing. It was only when Bucky tried to pry the Zodiac out of my hand that I knew they were memories."

Steve subconsciously reached up and placed a hand over where Bucky had grabbed his neck in the tussle for the Zodiac. Fury, to his credit, remained silent, waiting for Steve to finish his story before asking questions.

"When I heard Bucky scream out of pain, I immediately thought of him. When that happened it must have been like I had given the Zodiac something to focus on, because after that it just showed me Bucky's entire life, from the moment we met all the way through him becoming the Winter Soldier and up until the moment we met again.

"Once all his memories were shown, Bucky let go of the Zodiac and I followed suit," Steve finished. He omitted the part where he saw Harry's memories – he might trust Fury, but he didn't trust him that much.

"Did you learn anything in regard to who Mr. Barnes had worked for or what missions he was assigned?" Fury asked, his professional curiosity at work. Steve shook his head at Fury's question.

"The thing about touching the Zodiac was that the only time I knew what was going on was when Bucky's memories were mine as well. When a memory would play of him and me together, then it was like I was just watching my own memory, so I knew what was being said. However, if I wasn't present in a memory then I have no idea what was going on, because the only thing I was relying on was what was happening, not on what was being said.

"The whole thing – it was like this: at first, when it was all the flashes of memories, it was like someone was playing every movie ever made all at the same time on the same screen and was fast-forwarding all of them – it was just a bunch of images on top of the other and I couldn't comprehend anything that was going on. When I was looking at Bucky's memories, though, it was as if someone was fast-forwarding through a silent film – I didn't know what was happening in each scene, but I was able to discern the overall narrative."

Bucky's overall narrative was that he was forced into becoming an assassin; Harry's was that she is a witch.

Steve still doesn't know how to feel about either one of those facts.

"So I can't tell you anything because I'm not fully sure I know what's going on myself," Steve concluded, looking at Fury apologetically.

Fury nodded in understanding, his elbows set on the armrests of his chair, his hands intertwined.

"Do you think Mr. Barnes is reliving his memories while he sleeps?" he asked in contemplation.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was. I still get flashes of images in my head every time I close my eyes; I don't think it's that far of a stretch to think that Bucky is reliving the memories he had forgotten."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, each distracted by their own thoughts. Finally, Fury got up from his chair, back into his imposing stance as Director of SHIELD.

"Very well. Thank you Captain Rogers, I'll let you rest now," he said before making his way out of the room. Before he could leave, though, Steve called him back.

"Fury!" Steve said, causing the Director to turn back around to look at Steve. "I don't want anyone getting into contact with the Zodiac ever again. I don't care where you store it, or if you try to destroy it, under no circumstances do I want to find out that SHIELD is experimenting with the Zodiac like they had experimented with the Tesseract."

They looked at one another, Steve's expression serious, his tone commanding.

"I'll see what I can do," Fury replied. With that he turned and left Steve alone.

It wasn't a promise, but it was a start.

* * *

It had been three days since Bucky woke up – five since the Zodiac incident.

It had been three days of awkward interactions between Bucky and Steve and neither really knew what to do.

Steve couldn't recall why he thought that he and Bucky would immediately go back to being friends once he woke up. For one thing, Bucky had just gotten back all of his memories – even the ones that were purposefully erased – and so he wasn't in the right mindset to have a nice conversation with an old friend. For another thing, Steve had seen all of Bucky's memories, and even if he didn't know the context behind all the memories – outside of the ones he was present for – him knowing about them at all was a big betrayal of Bucky's trust.

As a result, every time they would be in the same room together, there was guaranteed silence. Which was why Steve was really glad Natasha was around.

Bucky trusted Natasha – they had once been lovers, after all – and while it stung that Bucky no longer trusted Steve, he was just glad that Bucky had someone he could talk to about all that had happened.

Especially since Natasha would not judge Bucky regarding what he did as the Winter Soldier.

However, Natasha being Bucky's confidante left Steve feeling useless; he wanted to help Bucky in any way he could, and the way Bucky wanted Steve to help was by being as far away as he possibly could be. It wasn't ideal, but after everything that had happened between them, Steve was willing to give Bucky his space if it meant he was healing.

So getting a text message from Natasha at four in the morning caused Steve to snap into action.

The message simply read _"Bucky wants to talk,"_ but it was all Steve needed to get a move-on.

He was at the SHIELD base where Bucky was being treated not even fifteen minutes later. He walked into Bucky's room without knocking, stalling when he saw that Natasha was the only other person in the room, her back to the door.

"I got your text," he said lamely, causing Natasha to turn around.

"Good," she said as she made her way past him and out the door, Steve following.

They walked together through the base and down into a secret garage that Steve didn't know was there. They walked past parked cars and motorcycles, stopping at the end of the row of vehicles where Bucky was packing a car with duffel bags.

Natasha walked over to Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder and motioning towards Steve. Bucky stopped packing, allowing Natasha to continue, before he walked over to Steve. They stood in awkward silence, and Steve had to resist the urge to rock back-and-forth on his feet. He looked at Bucky, who looked healthier than he had when Steve had first seen him in this century.

The nice thing about Bucky having his memories back was that Steve could see Bucky's old self in the way he held himself – the bad thing about Bucky having his memories back was that he walked around as if he had a giant weight of guilt hanging off of him that refused to come off.

"Going on a trip?" Steve asked Bucky, trying to break the ice. Bucky turned back to look at the car, before looking back at Steve.

"Yeah, something like that," Bucky replied. It was still weird for Steve to hear Bucky sound like he remembered, but with a hint of a Russian accent thrown in.

Steve waited for Bucky to elaborate; however, the longer the silence dragged on, the more it looked like Bucky wouldn't continue talking. Steve noticed that Bucky had the same look on his face as the one time Bucky told Steve that he had gotten a date with the girl Steve had a major crush on when they were fifteen – it had been one of the few times Steve had been furious at Bucky.

Surprisingly, he was more upset at Bucky over that incident than he was over finding out that his best friend had been a Russian assassin for over fifty years. The former was purely Bucky's own fault, the latter he had no choice.

"Listen, Steve, I have something I want to say but I don't want you interrupting me with your…morals or anything like that," Bucky rushed out, pausing only to think of an accurate word to describe whatever Steve's objections would be.

Steve gave Bucky his best 'really?' face, but he nodded anyway to show Bucky that he understood.

"I've done, a lot of bad things in my life," Bucky started, and once he had started he couldn't stop. "I've killed, a lot of people – a lot of innocent people – and before you can interrupt and tell me that it wasn't my fault or anything like that, I have to say that, yes, it is my fault. It doesn't matter if I was coerced into doing it; it was still me pulling the trigger.

"And I have done so many things that I can never atone for, that I can never apologize enough for, or take back. And I'll have to live with that for the rest of my life. I have all of these memories that are mine, and they're all awful – except for the ones when we were kids," Bucky amended, causing Steve to smile sadly.

"But the thing is, I have all of these memories of all the wrongs I have done, and they're all really bad – however, I've come to realize that I have a way that I can atone. It definitely won't be enough to wash away all that I have done, but it's a start.

"There are things I can do, things I know I can fix, but they all require me to leave – to head back to Russia."

Bucky paused, breathing deeply to calm himself.

"I'm going to Russia, and Natasha is coming with me. Hopefully we can clean up the mess I've made."

Bucky waited for Steve to respond, and Steve wanted to respond. He wanted to tell Bucky that it wasn't necessary, that everything he had done as the Winter Soldier wasn't his fault.

But the more that he thought about it, he realized that those words weren't the words that Bucky wanted to hear – they were what Steve wanted to hear. And Steve owed Bucky more than just empty words.

Steve nodded his head in understanding, looking at Bucky with a resolved look on his face.

"Do what you gotta do," Steve said at last, "whatever you need to do to – whatever you need to do."

Steve watched as Bucky relaxed right in front of him, as if Steve's permission took off a large weight. Steve knew that the 'whatever you need to do' would result in more blood on Bucky's hands, but hopefully this time around it would not be the blood of the innocent.

Bucky nodded his thanks, and just when he was about to turn back towards the car, Steve continued.

"And just know that I'll be here for you when you're done. Whether, after everything, you want to get back to being friends or if you never want to see me again – I'll be here for you. I'm marching on your command," Steve concluded, trying to play off his sincerity with a joke.

He could see the gratitude in Bucky's face, and Steve tried to ignore the wave of sadness that hit him.

He just got his friend back, only to lose him again – maybe this time, it would be forever.

They said nothing else as they shook each other's hands, and as Bucky walked over to the car, Natasha walked back over to Steve.

"Thank you for going with him," Steve told her sincerely.

"Yes, well, he isn't the only one with blood on his hands," she replied.

Steve nodded in understanding, knowing that Natasha still felt guilt over her actions before becoming a SHIELD agent.

"Take care of him," Steve said, the 'take care of yourself' implied in his tone.

"I always do," she assured him, her 'I will' unsaid.

She gave Steve her smirk that she normally had right before a mission – a smirk to show her excitement and anticipation of what was to come.

He watched as they drove off, feeling a wave of melancholy hit him. He stood in the garage for a while, alone. He tried not to think of anything, to not worry over his friends.

In the end, he decided to walk around the base.

And so he walked, meandering around corridors, trying to get lost in the maze that is a SHIELD base; he tried not to think about anyone – about Bucky, or Natasha, or Fury, or Harry.

He tried not to think about his thoughts on Fury and Harry, about whether he should demand information from Fury or let everything slide. He tried not to think about whether or not his friendship with Harry was genuine or not.

He tried not to think – which means all he could do was think.

He walked for hours, falling into circular reasoning in regard to whether Harry had used magic on him or not.

If she had, then he had been manipulated without knowing it, meaning that he couldn't trust her. But Steve didn't feel like she had used magic on him, but he might think that only because of magic.

In the end, Steve knew he needed to talk to Harry, but he didn't want to bring her up anywhere near Fury or SHIELD. Steve didn't need audio from the memories to know that Harry and Fury did not like each other – it was quite clear from their body language that they hated the other. Besides, Steve demanding answers from Fury about Harry would only make Fury question where he had gotten his information from; and Steve would like to not bring up the fact that he had also seen Harry's memories while in Fury's presence.

Was he angry at Fury that he had kidnapped Harry and sent her off to England? Yes, he was furious – he was angry that they thought she was a threat, and he was angry over the inconvenience he now faced over wanting to talk to Harry, but not having the means to do so.

But was he angry enough to barge in and demand answers? No, he wasn't – especially not if it would result in more trouble for Harry.

Steve just really wanted to talk to Harry before deciding how angry he was going to be with Fury. That was the best plan of action.

"Hey Spangles, you alright?"

Steve snapped out of his thoughts and turned to look at Tony Stark.

"What?" Steve asked, confused, surprised to see Stark at the SHIELD base.

"You've been staring at the wall for five minutes now," Stark explained, taking off his sunglasses to get a better look at Steve. "You know, filming you staring at a wall is only funny for the first four minutes. Once you hit the five-minute mark, though, it just becomes sad."

"Oh, right," Steve replied, "I was just – What are you doing here?"

Steve wanted to say he was thinking, but he really didn't want to discuss what he was thinking about with Stark. Not that Stark would take much interest in it.

If Stark noticed his change of subject, he didn't comment on it – though he did raise his eyebrows up in disbelief.

"Fury has a project he wants me to work on, and I've been so bored recently that I said I would take a look at it," Stark answered, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal.

"Right," Steve said as a way of saying something to keep the conversation going.

"What about you? I heard about what happened with you – what with HYDRA and your Terminator friend," Stark joked; Steve at least understood that reference.

"I uh," Steve began, trying to decide if he should be sincere or not. He looked at Stark, who wore dark colored jeans, a white wrinkled shirt, and a dark leather jacket; Stark looked a lot better than when they had first met. Steve couldn't explain why: maybe it was the fact that Stark looked more laid-back, less defensive; or maybe it was because Steve could no longer see the muffled blue glow of an arc-reactor coming out from Stark's chest.

"I'm not doing so great," Steve said at last, deciding to give Stark a chance and be honest.

"Life in the 21st century not your cup of tea, old man?" Stark asked, sarcasm rolling off of him in waves.

"No. I mean, I like it well enough, but I'm finding it hard to trust people," Steve confessed, his melancholy creeping into his voice. Steve was realizing that he couldn't trust a lot of the people he met, however, he could trust that Stark would always be a pain-in-the-ass.

Steve was startled to see the look of empathy on Stark's face, not expecting him to react in such a way. Although, if Steve thought about it, it wasn't that surprising at all.

"You know, if you're looking for trust, you should buy a dog," Stark said finally, waving his sunglasses around to emphasize his point.

"I don't think my landlord would approve," Steve replied, going along with the joke.

"You should find a different landlord, then," Stark said, slipping his sunglasses back over his eyes.

"Yeah, I really should," Steve agreed. He wanted to get away from SHIELD for a while, which meant that he wanted to get out of the apartment they had placed him in.

They descended into silence, each in their own thoughts, before Stark spoke up again.

"You know, after the Chitauri attack, Stark Tower was partially destroyed."

"Yeah, I know, it was such a shame," Steve cut in, sarcasm rolling off his tongue.

"I know, I know. You thought it was a great, big, ugly building," Stark said, and Steve could hear the eye-roll. "Anyway, I remodeled the tower – "

"Does it still look like a llama?" Steve asked, unable to help himself. Ever since he and Harry had watched 'The Emperor's New Groove,' Steve couldn't think about Stark Tower without thinking about how Harry had pointed out how much it looked like a llama head.

"I – what?" Tony asked, confused and slightly insulted. Steve shook his head, waving his hand as though he was waving the point away.

"Never mind," he apologized; Stark eyed him critically.

"Right, anyway, I've remodeled the tower and I've added to it. What I want to say is that I've made rooms for each of the Avengers, and the only one on our team who has even seen his room has been Bruce. Do you know how big of a blow it is to my self-esteem that no one has come to appreciate what I've done for them?" Stark asked, affronted.

Steve was astounded by what Stark was implying, just as he was astonished by what Stark had done for the rest of the team.

"Are you asking me to move in?" Steve asked, perplexed.

"Pftt, no. What do you think we are, married?" Stark snorted, "I just want you to come, check out your room, maybe stay awhile, you know, just for a break."

Steve was touched by his offer, even if Stark was trying to play it off like it was no big deal.

"Why? What's the catch?" he asked, partially because he was curious, partially to offer Stark a way out of the 'sincerity territory' he was heading into.

"No catch," Stark said, causing Steve to raise his eyebrows in disbelief. "Okay, I just want to win against someone in Scrabble. For some odd reason, Bruce and Pepper are really good at Scrabble and I have been in last place every time we play – it's getting annoying. So just, come over, check out your rooms, stay a while, and join the three of us in a game of Scrabble, because I swear to God if I end up in last place one more time I'm going to take the board and give it to Dummy to play with."

Steve's lips twitched at Stark's reason. It wasn't _the_ reason why Stark was offering, but it was a reason all the same, and one Steve didn't mind hearing. He found that the thought of living with Stark and Banner wasn't as bad of an idea as he would have thought back when he had first interacted with the two.

"Okay," he said at last, causing Stark to smirk mischievously.

* * *

Steve had been living at Stark Tower – or Avengers Tower, as Stark was trying to get everyone else to call it – for over a week now. Overall it was a quiet and relaxing time. Steve had his own floor in the tower, which was big surprise when he first learned of it. He had thought that he would have been isolated by living on his own floor; however it soon became clear that having his own floor was probably for the best.

For one thing, JARVIS was programmed in every room of the Tower, so it wasn't like Steve ever felt truly alone. It became painfully clear through his interactions with JARVIS that Tony Stark was, indeed, JARVIS's creator. The computer program was just as smart and probably a lot more sassy than Stark was, which made every interaction between JARVIS and Stark fun to watch.

For another thing, despite the fact that Stark, Pepper, Banner, and Steve all had their own kitchens and living spaces, they all still ate and hung out in the communal kitchens and living room.

It was fun, having breakfast with Banner, or hanging-out with Pepper as she read through paperwork and Steve drew in his sketchbook, or watching Stark come out of his lab on a mission for coffee, mumbling under his breath about whatever it was he was working on.

And, true to his word, Steve sat down to play Scrabble with the others on his second night at the Tower. Tony wasn't kidding when he said Pepper and Banner excelled at Scrabble – by the end of the game they were both at least a hundred points ahead of both Steve and Tony. Steve wound up in last place, much to Stark's delight.

Living at the Tower was oddly comforting to Steve, and after a week he felt so at home that he had accidentally left his sketchbook in the kitchen. Knowing about how curious the three could be, Steve wasn't all too surprised when he walked in on Stark, Pepper, and Banner looking through it.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, cutting off their conversation, his face expecting an answer. He was happy to see that at least Pepper and Banner looked embarrassed by their actions, though he saw Stark pick up the book to bring it closer to his face.

"Nothing," Pepper replied guiltily.

"Eating breakfast," Banner added on, picking up his fork and turning to look down at his plate.

"Who's the chick?" Stark asked, still staring at Steve's sketch.

"Tony!" Pepper admonished, while Banner sighed at his plate. Stark ignored her and instead turned the book around to show Steve his own drawing.

It was of Harry, at around the age of fifteen. The picture showed her face in profile, body pointed towards the viewer – she looked as though she was sword fighting against an opponent off the page, except instead of a sword, she had her wand in her right hand, her left hand pulled back as if ready to fling additional spells.

He knew she could do it, had seen her do it several times in her memories.

All the while her face was set in determination, a fierceness about it that Steve had never seen in person.

"Oh, that's Harry," Steve said, walking over to get himself a cup of coffee.

"Hear that guys? It's Harry," Tony commented under his breath, causing Pepper to roll her eyes and Banner to smile in humor.

"So who's Harry?" Tony asked, leaning against the counter next to where Steve was pouring out his drink. Pepper, bless her, yanked Steve's sketchbook out of Stark's hands and placed it on the table next to Banner.

"Harry's my," Steve began, stopping when he realized he didn't know what she was. His instinct was to say friend, however he still wasn't sure if she had magically manipulated him into being his friend or not, or if they were still friends after the eight whole months of not speaking to each other. It was confusing.

"Girlfriend?" Stark prompted, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, causing Steve to roll his eyes.

"No, she is not my girlfriend," Steve refuted – that much, at least, he was certain of.

"So is she imaginary then?" Stark asked, still curious.

"No, she's very real," Steve replied, stirring in milk to his coffee.

"Is there something you want to tell us?" Tony asked, reaching over and taking Steve's cup of coffee before Steve could even pick it up for a taste. "Like are you a stalker or pedophile or something else unsavory?"

Steve gave Stark a look of pure loathing, which intensified when Stark took a sip of his coffee only to spit it back out into the cup.

"Why did you put milk in this?" he asked, horrified, causing Steve to roll his eyes as he yanked his cup out of Stark's hands, pouring out the coffee in the sink before starting all over again.

"Harry and I are friends," Steve affirmed at last, his anger at Stark making him sound more certain than he really was, "however we haven't talked to each other since December because SHIELD thought she was a threat because she was getting close to me, and if I had learned about that before I had touched the Zodiac I would have been pissed, however I learned of it _after _the Zodiac incident and now I can't really blame SHIELD for their actions because Harry is a witch which complicates our friendship a bit."

Steve finished his rant with a sip from his freshly made coffee, looking at the faces of Stark, Banner, and Pepper. He smiled in amusement when he was met with three, wide-eyed, confused faces.

"I'm out," Banner said finally, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat.

"I'm late for work," Pepper said as well, walking over to Stark to kiss him goodbye.

"Wait, hold on. Stay here for a second you two," Stark said, pointing to Banner and Pepper. "What do you mean, she's a witch?"

Stark was confused and intrigued both at the same time, and Steve could see that both Pepper and Banner were interested in his answer just as much as Stark was.

"She's a witch. She has magic," Steve confessed. He felt lighter by saying it, as if keeping that piece of knowledge had been weighing him down.

"Like Loki magic?" Stark asked, eyes narrowed.

"No. More like magical wand waving, cauldron stirring, broomstick-riding witch," Steve replied, finding enjoyment out of watching the flabbergasted looks on the three's faces. Steve watched as Banner looked like he wanted to ask a question, but thought better of it at the last minute.

"Are you serious?" Pepper asked, unsure if she thought Steve was crazy or not. Steve nodded his head in answer.

"Well, that at least explains the other drawings," Banner said at last, referring to the other sketches Steve did from Harry's memories.

"What's her name?" Stark asked, gears turning in his head as a plan formed.

"Harriet, but she likes going by Harry," Steve answered. He wasn't entirely sure about her last name – she said it was Peverell but there were several occasions when he saw her in memories writing out her name as Potter.

"What about her last name?" Stark pressed.

"Peverell," Steve answered, deciding to go along with what Harry said rather than what he saw. After all, if Stark was planning on looking her up, he would be more likely to find her under the name 'Peverell' than 'Potter.'

Stark nodded his head before walking over to take back the sketchbook and fleeing from the kitchen. Steve, Banner, and Pepper were left in the room, looking at each other in confusion.

"I need to get to work."

"I'll go see what he's doing."

Pepper and Banner left the kitchen, trying to act like they didn't have a thousand questions they wanted to ask Steve about Harry.

Steve was left alone, drinking his coffee and wondering why he put milk in it when he hadn't first checked the expiration date.

* * *

Two days had passed since the sketchbook incident, and Steve was working out in his own private gym when he was interrupted by Stark.

"Didn't realize you had to work out; I thought you were just always like this," Stark snarked as he walked up to Steve.

"Well, I can't draw, so I have to do something to pass the time," Steve replied, giving Stark a glare. Stark still hadn't returned the sketchbook back to Steve.

"Yeah, about that, I think I found something that you would find interesting," Stark said, rocking on his feet like a child giddy to show off.

Steve looked at Stark, intrigued, who just nodded at Steve to follow along.

Stark led Steve to his personal lab, a place Steve had yet been allowed anywhere near. Stark held the door open for Steve, who walked into a very cluttered working space.

There were metal bits and pieces everywhere, Stark's helper-robots working on their individual tasks poorly. In the center of all the mess was what appeared to be the project Stark was working on: a giant metal body was being assembled.

"Are you building a new suit?" Steve asked, looking at the metal body with interest. He noticed what appeared to be the metal head on a table next to the body. The head was domed, a black screen curving around it, almost as if it was supposed to be a face.

"Oh, that thing? No, not a suit. I told you, I'm done with being Ironman," Stark said, walking over to a wall of computer monitors.

"Is that the reason why Sir has built another two suits since he first assured Mr. Rogers that he was done with being Ironman?" JARVIS piped in. Steve smiled as Stark scowled.

"No one asked you, JARVIS," Stark pouted, though Steve could see the affection Stark had for JARVIS.

"Apologies, Sir, I didn't realize that was meant to be a secret. You are normally much more open about your work."

It was a mark of how long Stark and JARVIS had been working together that they could banter in such a natural way. Steve was amazed by how at ease Stark was with JARVIS, and how human JARVIS seemed to be – Steve still had difficulties talking with the AI unit.

"JARVIS, bring up Project Witch, will you?" Stark asked, instead of making another crack at JARVIS.

"Of course Sir," the AI replied. Steve watched as the monitors came to life, displaying information at a fast rate, most of which was incomprehensible for Steve.

"That's the project Fury wanted me to work on," Stark told Steve once he was satisfied JARVIS was doing his job.

"Pardon?" Steve asked, confused. Stark pointed to the metal boy he was building, causing Steve to understand.

"Fury doesn't trust human guards for certain objects," Stark began, not needing to elaborate that the 'certain objects' included the Zodiac, "so he asked me to develop a more, _artificial_, guard."

"So you're building a robot guard?" Steve asked.

"So I'm building a robot guard," Stark affirmed, turning back to the screens.

Steve didn't understand why a wave of unease hit him at learning of Stark's project; though the image of Harry fighting off the horde of metal men in his head might have had something to do with it.

"Here we are. JARVIS, open up File F-U," Stark commanded, nudging at Steve to look at the screen as well.

"So, after finding out about your witch friend, I decided to do some research –"

"Even though you could have just asked me," Steve said, cutting off Stark's speech. He waved his hand at Steve's interruption.

"Anyway, did some research – "

"You hacked into SHIELD – "

"I might have hacked into SHIELD – "

"You hacked into SHIELD – "

"For someone who doesn't trust SHIELD, you would think that you would feel pleased over the fact that their security system is so easy to hack – "

"That's not a thought I take comfort from –"

"Anyway," Stark said, cutting off the back and forth, "I looked around for your witch, found this file instead, thought it was funny that SHIELD would have a classified file entitled 'F-U,' so I looked at it. Guess whose file it was?"

"I'm guessing its Harry's," Steve answered.

"Yep," Stark agreed, motioning towards the monitors where every inch of the screen was filled with different video feeds of Harry, standing in public places, and flipping off the camera. There must have been over a hundred different recorded videos of Harry just standing and flipping off cameras.

Steve smiled, though it wasn't nearly as big of a smile as Stark had on his face.

"Your friend has spunk, I'll give her that," Stark commented, his eyes roving over each feed, respect on his face.

Steve couldn't help but agree.

* * *

"So next weekend you'll be here all alone," Stark said, drawing Steve's attention away from his meal.

"Why's that?" he asked, eyeing Stark critically.

"Well, Bruce is going to be giving a speech at some university in England, and Pepper and I have a board meeting in London, so we'll be there for the weekend," Stark explained trying to act like it was no big deal.

"That sounds like fun. Hope you all have a safe trip," Steve said, going back to his meal.

"Yeah, it does sound like fun. Would be even more fun to get a tour of the city from someone who really knows the place," Stark said, his true meaning being heavily hinted. Steve looked at Stark with a glare.

"Don't," he warned.

"Don't what?" Stark asked, his voice sounding hurt even though he wasn't.

"You are not going to meet Harry," Steve said in a commanding tone.

"Okay, but do you want to see her?" Stark asked, expectantly waiting for a response.

They knew where Harry lived – her file from SHIELD had told them as much – so Steve could go and see her if he wanted to; however it seemed rude to go and meet her with no warning.

"I do," he started, really wanting to continue on with his 'but,' only for Stark to cut him off.

"Great! We leave at 8 on Friday."

And with that, Stark left the room, causing Steve to bang his head down on the table.

* * *

"You know, when you offered to bring me to London to see Harry, I had assumed that I would be seeing her alone," Steve told the others as they walked down the street.

"Well, you know what they say about assuming things," Stark replied, causing Steve to roll his eyes.

"Really sorry about this Steve," Pepper said, "I didn't realize Tony was planning this."

Steve smiled at Pepper, hearing the sincerity in her voice.

"I did," Banner stated, placing his hands in his pockets.

"Thanks Bruce," Steve and Stark said at the same time, but for two very different reasons. Bruce shrugged his shoulders, not phased by their reactions.

"Ah, there's the house," Stark spoke up, quickly walking away from the group and up the steps. Steve rolled his eyes before following after.

"Stark, don't," Steve commanded as he saw Stark about to knock on the door.

"Why not? We're all here," Stark said, as if it makes sense to knock on someone's door without warning the people inside of their imminent arrival.

"Tony, don't," Pepper piped up, walking up to Stark and laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Well, one thing, you three shouldn't be here," Steve said, starting to answer Stark's questions, looking pointedly at Stark, Pepper, and Bruce.

"Why not? We all have our own questions we want Harry to answer," Stark said, not backing down.

"Tony this isn't the proper time for you to get your questions answered," Pepper told him, her voice showing her disappointment in his actions.

"Really Tony, we can get them answered another time," Bruce said from the stairs; he looked like he wanted to leave, with or without them.

"I know," Stark said, much to Steve's chagrin, "but we're here anyway and aren't you curious for the sake of science?"

"Stark she isn't some science experiment," Steve warned, his ire building at Stark's plan.

"Which you would know all about, Captain," Stark responded callously. The fact that Steve and the other's didn't react to Stark's barb was due to the fact that it wasn't the first time he had used the same insult when talking to Steve – if anything the three rolled their eyes at Stark's comeback, too used to his behavior by now.

"Tony, he's right," Bruce said, taking a step away from the door, "come on, let's go."

"Just one question," Stark said, turning back towards the door.

"Tony, I swear to God, if we don't leave within the next minute you're sleeping on the couch for the rest of the year," Pepper said, her CEO voice coming out.

"Why are you so against us being here?" Stark asked Steve mockingly. Steve had to resist the urge to punch Stark right in the face.

"Oh, I don't know," Steve responded, sarcastically, "maybe it's because I haven't talked to Harry since December – you know, when you were dealing with AIM and all of that, that's the last time we talked. And maybe I just wanted our first conversation since then to be between the two of us, especially seeing as how I'm mainly going to be asking why she didn't feel like she could trust me enough to tell me the truth about her life.

"So yeah, I'm just a bit against you being here," he concluded, glaring at Stark. Pepper and Bruce waited with baited breath as Stark pondered what Steve had said.

"All of that is valid, I'll give you that," Stark said, nodding his head in agreement, causing the other three to look at him with odd expressions on their faces.

"But all I have to ask is: what were you going to do about the children?" he asked, looking at Steve with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Before Steve could stop him, Stark rang the doorbell.

"Stark!" Steve admonished, hearing the bell ringing inside the house. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose while Pepper looked furious at Stark, who looked as if he had done nothing wrong.

The door opened immediately, and the four watched as Harry was revealed, her face showing her surprise at their presence. Steve realized that she must have been standing behind the door, as if she knew they were there.

"Steve?" Harry asked, her tone a mixture of happy, confused, and surprised at Steve's arrival.

"What are you doing here?" she continued, eyeing each of them in suspicion. Steve suddenly felt embarrassed, not sure of why he thought that seeing her again was a good idea.

"It's a long story."

* * *

Author's Note:

So the contest is still open. I do have to say I really enjoyed reading your guesses for the wand woods, and there were several times when I read a guess that was _so close_ but would assign the right wand to the wrong person and I would just sit in anguish because you were so close.

Therefore, here's the deal: next chapter I plan to reveal the wands in-story, so you have one more chance to guess for a win. Just for clarification, Harry has two different wand woods for her bracelets HOWEVER, since I didn't specify that she had two in the previous chapter all you need to do is guess one wood correctly (big hint for Harry: think canon).

So again, the challenge is to guess the wand woods for Steve, Bruce, and Harry gets a prize - the prize being a one-shot of whatever you want to read in regard to the story universe (so if you're curious about Harry's school life, or want to read about Harry and Steve watching a movie, or something else, now is your chance). And if no one gets a 100% correct guess, I will choose those I feel were the closest and offer up the prize to them.

Once again, thank you so much for all the positive reviews! Have a great week!


	12. Chapter 11

"It's a long story," Steve answered Harry. She could see how flustered he was, and she was curious over what the four were doing there.

"No it's not," Stark answered, looking at Steve like he was crazy. He looked at Harry with interest and humor, holding out his hand in introduction.

"Hi, I'm Tony by the way – Tony Stark," he said, and Harry shook his hand with a confused expression on her face.

"I know. I'm Harry," she replied, looking at the others as she shook Stark's hands.

Ms. Potts had an expression on her face that conveyed her frustration at her boyfriend, as well as her resolve over the fact that he probably wasn't going to change anytime soon. Dr. Banner was still on the steps, looking anxious and paranoid. Steve had the angriest look on his face, his jaw clenching so tightly that Harry was pretty sure it was going to crack.

"I know," Stark parroted Harry. He looked over at Steve and gave him an obvious wink. Harry's eyebrows rose at Stark's actions, finding it an odd mixture of funny and disconcerting.

"Anyway," Stark continued, clapping his hands together, "long story short: Captain Spangles here found out about your deportation by SHIELD's commands, wanted to get in touch with you, asked me for my help – "

"No I didn't," Steve cut in, though that didn't stop Stark from continuing his story.

" – I happily obliged, hacked into SHIELD, found out where you were, now we're here. Also is it true you're a witch?"

Harry had been following along with Stark's explanation with amusement up until the very end. Her mind went blank at his question, her heart-rate picking up, her face falling to show her alarm and confusion.

Around them, Steve, Ms. Potts, and Dr. Banner all started to scold Stark at once, who just stood there with a terribly constructed innocent expression on his face.

Harry started to hyperventilate, her face whitened, and she knew that if she didn't say anything soon that they would assume she was a witch.

"No," Harry snorted, causing the four to look at her, "I'm not a witch."

Harry was greeted with four identical looks of disbelief, which was not a good sign.

"I'm not," she tried again, but even she could tell it was a half-hearted attempt at a lie.

Stark looked like he wanted to say something, but Potts put her hand over his mouth before he could, her glare telling Stark to keep quiet.

Harry licked her lips, still breathing heavily; she looked up and down the street to make sure no one was listening in.

"Who told you?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper. It was the closest she'll get to admitting out loud that she was a witch to someone she didn't know.

She watched as Stark, Banner, and Potts looked over at Steve, who looked serious and determined.

"I did," Steve confessed, looking at Harry like he was trying to discern something about her through her looks.

"And who told you?" Harry asked, her tone hard, her heart beating against her chest.

"No one," Steve answered, and Harry could see that he had questions of his own that he wanted answered.

"Who else knows?" she demanded. She almost sounded deranged, however she didn't care – she had other things to worry about.

"No one else," Steve answered almost immediately.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, panic spiking through her voice. "Are you absolutely sure no one else knows?"

She had not gone almost two years without revealing her magic to anyone for it all to go to waste because someone, somewhere, had learned about her magic and had decided to tell everyone about it.

In this case, that someone seemed to be Steve.

"Yes, I haven't told anyone except these three," Steve said, motioning towards Stark, Banner, and Potts, "I didn't even tell anyone at SHIELD."

"I told JARVIS," Stark cut in, causing Potts to groan in frustration.

"Who's Jarvis?" Harry asked, anger slowly creeping into her voice.

"He's my computer program. Stands for Just A Rather Very Intelligent System," Stark explained, pride in his voice. Banner sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose at Stark's behavior.

"So, you told my secret to something that can be _hacked?_" Harry hissed the last word, anger beginning to form.

"JARVIS is unhackable. Seriously, he's been active for over twenty years and no one has managed to hack into any of his databases. JARVIS is unhackable, incorruptible, and the most sophisticated and most trustworthy computer program on the planet," Stark said, defending his greatest creation.

"Oh, great, a computer program that is unhackable. So glad you are able to confide in something with such a superlative. You know what, though? GUESS WHAT THEY SAID ABOUT THE FUCKING TITANIC!" Harry yelled, causing Stark, Potts, and Banner to all take a step back, though Steve remained where he was, the same serious expression on his face.

Harry immediately regretted her decision to yell, considering the fact that she could see several neighbors begin to look out their windows at her disturbance. Sighing angrily, Harry stepped to the side, motioning for the four to come into the house.

Stark wasted no time in entering, Ms. Potts following closely behind with an apologetic look on her face; Steve looked at Harry with an unidentifiable look on his before he, too, entered the house. The only one who hadn't moved was Banner, who looked as though he was having an internal argument with himself while standing on the steps.

"Bruce, you coming?" Stark asked, noticing that his friend hadn't moved from his spot. Banner didn't reply, causing Stark to show concern.

Harry, realizing what was going on, sighed deeply before walking out towards Banner.

"Dr. Banner," she said, causing him to look at her, "I do not mean either of you any harm. I know the two of you are no threat. Do you want to come in or not?"

She held out her hand at her question, waiting for Banner to either accept or deny her offer. He looked at her, his surprise over her words written on his face.

"He doesn't want to," he told Harry.

"I don't mean him any harm. I actually like the guy," she said, her words genuine.

"You haven't met him," Banner said, his voice serious and bitter.

"To be perfectly honest, he can't be worse than a couple of giants," she said offhandedly, once again offering her hand for Banner to take.

"Uh, what's going on?" Stark asked, though the others ignored him. Banner looked at Harry as though he was trying to judge her trustworthiness, and Harry swore she saw something flash across Banner – something mean and green.

It didn't faze her, seeing the glimpse of Banner's alter ego. She had once pissed off Remus Lupin so badly that she had seen the wolf flash across his face, and that had scared her far more than Banner has.

In her world, Banner had been a werewolf himself, though unlike Lupin, Banner had been bitten in his early twenties and not as a child. Banner had been poisoned through copious amounts of wolfsbane that had been mixed into his food before his last transformation – the plant that was harmless to human ingestion, was not so forgiving to a wolf's digestion.

She had not been afraid of Banner when she learned he had been a werewolf, she was not afraid of Banner when he could transform into the Hulk.

Banner must have decided he could trust her because he grabbed her hand. Harry gripped his hand and tugged, prompting him to walk up the stairs with her. She watched as Banner passed through her wards, his face showing his wonder and curiosity over what he must have felt.

"That's interesting," he stated, once he was inside the house.

"Anyone want to fill us in on what just happened?" Stark asked as Harry slammed the door shut.

"Dr. Banner's alter ego must have been able to sense my wards," Harry explained, no longer trying to hide the fact she was a witch around the group.

"Right, that makes sense – whatever that means," Stark said casually, as though he wasn't confused by what Harry had said. She rolled her eyes.

"My magic. The Hulk must be able to sense my magic," Harry explained, her anger coming back at Stark's comment.

"That makes sense. I wouldn't be surprised if the Other Guy was more attuned to magic after Loki," Banner said, trying to find a logical explanation for why Harry's wards had affected him more than the others.

Stark looked like he wanted to comment, however the group was interrupted by two small children.

"Harry, what's going on?" Lysander asked, looking at the group as they stood around the front door. Harry could see Lorcan poking his head out from the living room to get a better look.

"Nothing," Harry answered, glaring at the others as if daring them to say anything contradictory, "just got a surprise visit from a couple of friends."

She was using the term 'friends' loosely; it was her first time meeting Stark, Banner, and Potts in this universe, so she didn't count them as friends, and Steve had been oddly quiet, which made Harry mad because he should be explaining to her what was going on.

"Lysander, Lorcan, go back in the living room and get started on your homework. I'll be there as soon as I can," Harry commanded, leaving no room for arguments.

"We already started," Lysander complained, despite her best efforts, "we just don't understand it. Can you help?"

Harry sighed; she wanted nothing more than to go and help the boys, however she currently had a group of curious Avengers on her hands and she wasn't sure she could convince them to leave anytime soon.

"Harry and Steve need to catch up. However, Tony, Bruce, and I would be happy to help you both with your homework," Potts said, giving Stark and Banner a look that told them they had no choice in this matter.

"Of course," Banner replied, giving Lysander and Lorcan a tight smile.

"I would love to help, but I have a couple questions about wards?" Stark began, looking expectantly at Harry, who glared so hard at Stark that she was surprised he hadn't burst into flames yet.

"Actually, Tony would love to help," Potts said, looking at Stark with an expression that promised retribution if he contradicted her again. "After all, we're only here to take care of the children. Isn't that right, Tony?"

Harry watched as Stark pouted, though he ultimately went along with Potts's plan.

"Right, we'll help with homework," he said, walking over to the kids. "What are you working on? Calculus? Physics? Computer programming?"

"We're practicing letters!" Lorcan exclaimed, coming to stand next to Lysander. Stark looked at the twins before turning back to his girlfriend.

"You hear that? They're practicing letters," Stark said, his tone conveying that he had discovered his own personal Hell on Earth.

"Yes, practicing the alphabet is very important for young children to learn," Potts said as she herded the children back into the living room, giving Stark one last 'glare-of-doom' before leaving them behind.

"Come on Tony, they're five year olds, what did you expect?" Banner asked as he dragged Stark into the living room.

"Hey, I was doing calculus at five years old," he said, sounding like a five year old himself.

"Yeah, poorly," Banner replied, causing Stark to protest.

Their conversation was cut short as soon as they entered the living room, leaving Harry alone with Steve for the first time since December. The pair stood in silence, each looking at each other without actually seeing.

For the first time since meeting Steve, Harry felt uncomfortable around him; it was not a feeling she particularly enjoyed.

"How did you find out?" she asked, trying to fill up the chasm between them. Steve remained silent, much to her irritation, and Harry was about to ask again when Steve spoke up.

"Have you ever used magic on me?" he asked. He was tense, his voice strained, and Harry felt a burning sensation coming from her chest.

"Oh don't do this," she replied, already knowing what Steve was trying to imply.

"Don't do what?" he asked, as if it would spur her to answer.

Harry gave an angry sigh, glaring down at the ground before rolling her eyes.

"Muffliato," Harry said, waving her hand toward the living room. She saw Steve flinch minutely, and, though he tried to cover it up, Harry felt the burning spread up her throat.

"What did you do?" he commanded, his body getting falling into a fight-or-flight stance.

"I made it so the others in the living room can't hear us. To be perfectly honest I could have casted it silently, but I didn't," Harry confessed, looking at Steve.

"Why did you do that?" he asked. He looked at her as though he thought he had seen her real self, but he was wrong.

"Why did I do that?" she copied, her voice a forced quiet. "Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because I DON'T WANT THEM TO HEAR ME EXPRESS HOW MUCH OF AN UTTER ARSE YOU'RE BEING RIGHT NOW!"

Steve took a step back as soon as Harry started to yell, his eyes widening in surprise. Harry's anger only grew as she watched Steve's reaction.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!? HONESTLY YOU MUGGLES ARE ALWAYS SO FUCKING DISTRUSTING WHEN YOU FIND OUT ABOUT MAGIC! MERLIN FORBID MY SUPPOSED FRIEND NOT OVER-FUCKING-REACT TO FINDING OUT I CAN DO MAGIC! WHAT? YOU THINK I CURSED YOU INTO BECOMING MY FRIEND OR SOMETHING? THAT I TORTURED YOU AND ERASED YOUR MEMORIES? GROW THE FUCK UP ROGERS!"

Harry's face was red, her eyes alight with her rage, and while Steve at first had tried to back away, he now took a step forward, growing accustomed to Harry's tone.

"Will you just answer my question?" he snapped, his stance commanding – like a captain's.

"What question? Do you mean the accusation that I did a Disney witch's evil spell on you?"

"Can you just answer my damn question without resorting to dramatics?" Steve asked. His voice was barely above a whisper, his anger displaying itself in a far different way than Harry's.

Harry glared at Steve, breathing heavily.

"Do you remember how we met?" she asked, looking directly into Steve's eyes.

"Yeah, of course I do," he answered, not entirely sure where Harry was going with this.

"What were you doing when we met?" Harry continued her inquisition, causing Steve to raise his eyebrows at her. She had a fleeting hope that maybe, through some bizarre series of events, the Steve Rogers in front of her was actually an imposter and the real one needed her help.

"We were cleaning up New York and I had grabbed a rock that you were going to get. That's how we met," he recounted.

"Right," Harry said, her shoulders relaxing minutely, though she was still incensed. "And you thought there was something off about what you were carrying."

"Yeah, I thought it was alien," he continued, realization slowly creeping into his being. So it was really Steve.

"Except it wasn't alien, it was magic," Harry confessed. "I was only helping the cleanup for the free food. I didn't want to interact with anyone so I put a notice-me-not charm on myself and had been casting feather-light charms on every piece of debris that I was carrying. You, just so happened, had picked up one of the rocks I had charmed, so I allowed you to notice me so I could compel you through magic to not notify anyone that there were suspiciously light objects around where I was working. That and a few notice-me-not charms I casted on you so people wouldn't get caught up in seeing Captain America walk around the streets while you were in your guilt-haze, and that's all the magic I have ever cast on you."

They stared at each other, Harry's confession hanging between them like a rope leading out of a trap.

"Have you used magic on anyone else?" Steve asked, looking at Harry as though he was willing her answer to be no.

"Oh yeah, loads of people," she responded with an eye roll, "both wizard and muggle alike. Really, what a fucking ambiguous question.

"Have I used magic on anyone else? Yes, I have, and it has all been far worse than what I've done to you. I have confused, and controlled, and tortured, and killed people with my magic. But you know who those people were? They were all wizards or witches; they were all people who could give as well as they could take. I had not spent my entire life as a witch fighting for the rights of non-magical peoples just so I could turn around and start casting every bloody spell I know on the first muggle I see.

"Have I used magic on you – on muggles before? Yes, I have, but it's not because I enjoy it or because I think it's right. I do it because I'm trying to keep the fact that I'm a witch – that magic exists – a fucking secret – which, by the way, GREAT JOB OF FUCKING THAT UP FOR ME!"

Harry was shaking, and she could feel her magic starting to respond but she forced it back, knowing that accidental magic at this time was probably not the best idea.

Steve, meanwhile, was looking at Harry as though he was trying to gauge how honest she was being.

"You know," Harry continued, her anger and magic once again under control, "I still don't know how you found out, or if anyone else knows."

Steve looked away from Harry and down at the floor, as though he realized he had made a mistake and was trying to find the best way to apologize.

"Did you hear about what had happened in DC?" he asked, looking back up at Harry with his neutral facial expression.

"Yeah, the whole terrorist-plot? Heard all about it on the news – though you know how much fact is put into news stories these days."

"Well, what you need to know is that the weapon HYDRA was going to use to attack DC was a part of a much larger object, and when I recombined the two it formed a new object. When I touched that object I was shown a bunch of different memories – it showed me Bucky's life, and it showed me your life."

Silence greeted Steve's explanation. Harry's eyes narrowed at the new information, her mind whizzing as it tried to comprehend Steve's words.

"What do you mean it showed you my life?" she asked, suspicion and worry in her voice.

"I mean that it showed me memories, though they were all out of context."

Steve paused, seeing he wasn't doing such a good job explaining when Harry looked even more confused.

"It was like," Steve began, trying a different approach. "It was like this: imagine if you watched 'Mulan' for the first time, except instead of watching it at a normal speed you watched it sped up. So you watched a sped up version of the movie but you didn't have sound to tell you what was going on – all you had were images that you could barely comprehend that you had to construct a story around.

"Now tell me, with all of that in mind, what is 'Mulan' about?" Steve asked, hoping his analogy was well explained.

"It's a movie about a girl soldier, a dragon, a bug, and her cross-dressing platoon of friends," Harry answered, surprisingly fast.

"Right, well, the gist I got from your memories was that you're a witch," Steve confessed.

"And you got all of this from an object?" Harry asked. A sudden wave of unease had descended over Harry, but she couldn't understand why.

"Yes. It showed me that you're a witch and Bucky was an amnesiac turned Russian assassin," Steve replied.

"Bucky's alive, then?" Harry asked, looking at Steve with a horrified curiosity.

"Yes," Steve answered, "and the memories I saw of his were all true, so I'm assuming the same for you."

"Where's the object now?" Harry asked, her mind already moving onto her next major concern.

"SHIELD has it in custody; Fury assures me they're putting it under lock-and-key. No one is ever going to use it again."

"And you really trust Fury?" Harry asked bitterly, staring at Steve like he was insane.

"Fury, yes. SHIELD, not so much," Steve replied, causing Harry to snort.

"I'm guessing you're not a big Fury fan," Steve remarked sarcastically.

"No, I can't say I am. I mean, we did have a bad first meeting –he accused me of seducing you into becoming my friend and I told him to back the fuck off. Needless to say, he's the reason I'm here and not in my flat in Harlem. And I had thought Mad-eye was paranoid."

"But he was right, in a way."

"No, no he's not," Harry snapped angrily.

"He was right to be suspicious," Steve explained, "after everything that happened – what with all the HYDRA agents who had infiltrated SHIELD – I feel Fury is well within his rights to act on his suspicions."

"You know, your argument would be valid, except I'M NOT A HYDRA AGENT! Also, his talk with me? THAT HAPPENED IN MARCH! So if Fury had been acting upon his suspicions I think he would have been able to identify all the HYDRA agents within his ranks. Instead, he had been watching me because he had thought I was corrupting you and turning you against SHIELD. Not that it looked like you needed my help to do that – seems like you arrived to that point on your own."

"I don't think – "

"Clearly not –"

"I don't think that SHIELD, as an organization, is evil or damaging or anything like that."

"Not what I was saying, but go on."

"I'm just realizing that I can't trust everyone I meet," Steve finished off his confession, his anger at Harry's antics coming through in his voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry; I didn't realize the child was growing up. You're just realizing that you can't trust everyone you meet?" Harry asked incredulously.

"The 21st century isn't nearly as open and honest as it was back in the 40s," Steve remarked, causing Harry to roll her eyes.

"Merlin I wish I had your ignorance. You know, not everyone has been afforded the luxury of being surrounded by honest, trustworthy people their entire lives. And it's really fucking hilarious that you think the 1940s was a more honest time than now – at the very least both eras are just as screwed up as the other, one just has nostalgia making it more glamorous than it really was."

"Well, at least back then people didn't have to constantly question whether their friend or colleague was a spy or not," Steve said, fists clenching at his side.

"Merlin you had a very sheltered existence, didn't you?" Harry snarked, shaking her head at Steve. "Well guess what Rogers? Not everyone's life has been all rainbows and unicorns – sometimes awful shit happens that causes people to not want to tell every stranger they meet their bloody life story."

"Oh, you mean like Fury, or other SHIELD agents, or you?" Steve asked, knowing that it was a low blow for Harry that Steve had lumped her in with SHIELD.

"YES! EXACTLY LIKE THAT!" Harry yelled in answer, throwing her hands up in the air out of frustration. "Do you know it took me a whole bloody school year to tell my friends that I was homeless? After everything I went through with them, it still took me over nine months to admit that I didn't have a home! I had lied to them, told them I still lived with my relatives in Surrey, and it wasn't until I was waiting for my relatives to show up with my friend and his family that I finally caved and admitted that they weren't coming to pick me up!

"I was eleven years old when that had happened; I had to wait with Ron and the Weasleys for almost three hours because I didn't want to admit the truth – because I thought they would have left me alone after the first hour _because everyone else had_. That was over ten years ago, what makes you think that I became more trusting within those ten years? If you really saw memories of my life then you should know that I have gone through enough shit that I can reasonably say I am even more distrusting now than I was back then.

"So tell me, at what point was I supposed to tell you about my magic? That I'm a witch? That I'm not even from this bloody universe? It wasn't going to be when we met. It wasn't going to be at your apartment – which SHIELD had _bugged_ by the way. Was it supposed to be in person? On the phone? Through a text? During our nine months away from each other?

"And don't get me wrong, I didn't tell you, _not_ because I didn't trust you. I trust you Steve, probably a lot more than you trust me at this point. I just didn't tell you because –"

Harry trailed off in her explanation, an angry growl coming from her throat as she tried to think of a way to explain her reasons to Steve.

"I SHOULD BE HOME BY NOW!" she exclaimed, her words tumbling from her like vomit, "I should have found a way home by now. I should be back home with my friends, and my godson, and my job, and my life! I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want to get attached to anyone here, in this universe! I didn't want to leave a friend behind!

"And I didn't want anyone finding out I was a witch either. For Merlin's sake, I woke up during the Chitauri attack, I saw what you lot did to aliens – fuck me if you lot had ever found out I was from a different universe entirely.

"Did you know Luna and Rolf work with SHIELD to primarily dissect and categorize different alien creatures? They were some of the SHIELD agents who dissected the Chitauri after the battle; I know this because they won't shut up about it when the twins aren't in the room. What do you think SHIELD would do to me if they find out? Are they going to dissect me? Or are they going to try and find out how my magic works so they can cultivate it and craft it into a weapon? The wizarding world back in my universe is hidden because they don't want that to happen!

"I just – I can't – I've been here for almost a year and a half now and I am no closer to finding my way back home now than I was when I had first arrived," Harry gave a harsh laugh.

"I – I – I just want to go home," she said, her vision blurring. Harry was mortified to learn that she had tears in her eyes, and immediately went to cover them with her hand before Steve could see. She had already dealt with these feelings; she didn't understand why she was crying.

"Merlin this is embarrassing," she whispered, her voice sounding as if she had already been crying for hours instead of seconds.

"Harry," Steve said; she could hear his regret in his voice. He took a step closer to her, but she held up a finger from her other hand in his direction, her warning clear.

"Don't," she commanded, her nose becoming snotty, "I'm still angry at you."

"I know," he said, ignoring her command and walking closer. "Harry, you didn't need to keep this all to yourself – I mean, you'd think out of everyone you know that I would understand."

"Falling into a coma isn't exactly the same as traveling to another universe," she objected, though it was only half-hearted.

"Really? Because I don't know about you, but waking up 70 years into the future really feels like traveling to a different universe to me."

Harry snorted at Steve's remark, and he took the opportunity to lay a hand on Harry's shoulder. She tensed for a brief second – not used to receiving affection from anyone in this universe – before she relaxed under his touch.

"Harry, I know how you're feeling," Steve began, and Harry couldn't dispute him because he was right.

"I shouldn't be crying," she said anyway, trying to hold back her tears. "Generals don't cry."

"Uh, 1) Generals do cry, I have seen them do it, and 2) Generals?"Steve asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. Harry took the hand covering her eyes and ran it through her hair, looking up at Steve as she did so.

"My last year of school, my friends started calling me The General. You aren't the only one who has commanded troops, Captain," Harry said, trying to clear her nasal passages as she breathed in. She saw Steve give her a sad look before changing it into his default expression.

"That explains a lot actually," he said, voice deadpanned, causing Harry to laugh. Steve smiled slightly, before speaking once more:

"I know you're angry at me – you have every right to be angry at me. I told the others about your secret when I didn't have all the facts myself; that was wrong of me, and I'm sorry. I also shouldn't have doubted you or our friendship after learning about your secret. I definitely shouldn't have distrusted you after finding out. Again, I'm sorry," he said sincerely, looking into Harry's eyes as he apologized.

"I'm more pissed off over the fact you told them about my secret, not that you distrust me now," Harry told him, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. "If anything I don't blame you for not trusting me anymore after finding out the truth – it's what any sane person would do."

"Well, guess I'm a bit insane then," Steve replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Guess you are," Harry agreed, "the best people tend to be. Though I do have to say, I don't think it's healthy for you to automatically trust people immediately after they've given you reason not to."

"Well, you have a point; however I think that distrusting people – not giving them the benefit of the doubt – is really starting to be detrimental to my health. I mean, once I start questioning people's loyalties it all just descends into circular logic and I'd rather avoid that from now on," he confessed, giving Harry a slight smile.

"You shouldn't trust everyone," she warned, slightly worried about Steve's mental state.

"I know; I don't trust everyone. I don't trust those who have lost my respect; but everyone else should have the benefit of the doubt – should be trusted."

"So I guess I never lost your respect?" Harry asked.

"My respect? No. My trust? Yes, for a bit," Steve answered, placing his other hand on Harry's other shoulder.

"We can help you, you know – Stark, Banner, and I. We can help you try and find a way back home. Stark dislikes SHIELD as much as you do and he's been growing bored recently now that his recent project is almost complete. I'm pretty sure he and Banner would be ecstatic to try and figure out how to travel to an alternate universe."

"That sounds like a really bad idea," Harry replied to Steve's offer of help, though that didn't stop her from feeling hopeful at the thought.

"Can't hurt to give it a shot," he said.

"Oh believe me, it can," she said, smiling at Steve. He smiled back, withdrawing his hands from her shoulders so he could place them in his pant pockets.

"So, are we still friends?" Steve asked, his face hopeful as he waited for Harry's response.

"Well, we can't go back to where we left off in December," she started to say, watching as Steve's shoulders drooped from the rejection.

"That's only because it would be silly for us to return to a time in our friendship when you were ignorant to what I am. So yes, we're still friends; we're just, you know, getting on the same page and everything."

"That sounds like a good idea," Steve said, nodding his head as he agreed with her decision.

"Though, again, I'm still really fucking angry at you," Harry told him once more, though there was no hint of anger in her voice.

"I know you are. And you should know that I still have a lot of questions," he said.

"As do I," she replied.

"Alright," Steve said, nodding his head once to show he understood where they stood with each other. "Quick question," he said suddenly, looking at Harry with a playful gleam in his eye, "when are you going to stop levitating all the objects in the hallway?"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as she processed Steve's question, before looking away from him and around the room.

All the objects in the entry-hallway – picture frames, umbrellas, umbrella stands, shoes, wall mirrors, the decretive rug, and etcetera – were floating. Harry stood still, her face showing her surprise, as she looked out at her accidental magic.

"Huh. How long has that been going on?" Harry asked, looking over at Steve for an answer.

"I believe it started when I compared you to Fury and SHIELD," Steve replied, looking at Harry's handiwork with suppressed interest.

"Yes, well, that wasn't very nice of you," Harry said.

"It's kind of true, though," Steve defended himself, watching as Harry shrugged her shoulders in response.

"Whatever," she countered, concentrating on her magic.

She waved her hands in the air, and Steve and Harry watched as all the floating objects fell gently back into their proper places.

The two stood in silence for a minute, Steve marveling over Harry's display of magic while Harry simply sighed in relief.

"That was pretty cool," Steve finally said, looking at Harry in contained wonder.

"Well, that's magic," Harry said, smiling.

"So, what do you want to know?"

* * *

Author's Note:

So I lied last chapter - contest is still going on. I swear it will be done next chapter so you all get one more chance to guess the wand woods for Harry, Steve, and Bruce. Pretty sure you all know the rules by now and that the majority of you have already guessed, but eh, you get another week.

Anyway, thanks again for all the love and support you all are giving this story. It means a lot to me and I'm just really glad so many people are liking my story.

Also I was thinking about getting a beta, if only to have someone look over the chapters to check for spelling and grammar mistakes, and to make sure my characters aren't becoming too ooc. If you're interested in being my beta, you can PM me and I'll message you back.

Anyway, happy Monday!


	13. Chapter 12

"So, what do you want to know?" Harry asked.

She watched as Steve contemplated her question, his lips pursing and his eyes narrowing in concentration.

"I want to know whatever you feel comfortable telling me – whether that is everything or nothing, I understand," he replied in a tone that conveyed his resolve.

"Well, that's certainly not the answer I was expecting," Harry told him, her eyebrows quirked at his response.

"You thought I would demand to know everything?" Steve asked, part accusingly and part sarcastically.

"It's what I would have done," Harry replied, shrugging her shoulders. Harry's curiosity demanded to be sated, and demanding answers was the easiest way to go about doing just that.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm not you, then," Steve joked, causing Harry to smile.

"I still want to know more about what happened with you and DC – especially about the object that showed you my memories," Harry demanded, eyeing Steve critically. She felt uneasy talking about the object, and it definitely had caught her interest; after all, an object that showed people memories could not be muggle in origin no matter how advanced their technology was.

That was purely a magical ability.

"How about we do this: I tell you about what happened to me, and then you answer my questions," Steve proposed, throwing his hands out as if silently asking if it was a good idea or not. Harry eyed him critically; however she couldn't deny that it did sound like a good idea.

"Are you suggesting this plan because I'm still angry at you and you're trying to appease me by answering my questions first?" Harry asked, watching Steve suspiciously.

"No," Steve answered, drawing out the word. "I'm merely suggesting this because I know my story is considerably shorter than yours."

"I think you've planned under the assumption that I'm going to be telling you anything," Harry said, part serious, part joking.

"True – are you not going to fill me in, then?" Steve asked, his face showing how silly he thought his question to be.

"No, I am. Just thought I should point it out," Harry answered simply.

The two fell into silence after that, and Harry was relieved to note that she no longer felt uncomfortable in Steve's presence. It was by no means a comfortable silence, but it was a start.

"Are you thirsty?"Harry asked, feeling parched herself.

"A bit," Steve answered, following Harry as she made her way to the kitchen.

The two entered the room and Harry motioned for Steve to take a seat. She was just about to grab two glasses from the cupboard when she paused in her movements.

"I guess I should go see if your friends want anything," Harry said, feeling a bit embarrassed that she had forgotten they were there.

"Right," Steve replied in a tone that also suggested he had forgotten his friends were in the other room.

"One sec," Harry told him as she left the kitchen and walked to the living room.

She stopped at the entrance to the room, her back to the entryway, and stared at the scene that greeted her.

Lorcan and Lysander were seated at the coffee table, their homework spread out in front of them; Potts and Banner sat next to the twins, both helping one of them with their work. Stark sat right next to the entrance with his back against the wall and his phone out – he looked as if he was in a time-out.

Harry would have been happy with the scene she walked in on, had it not been for the fact that the group had seen her walk in and immediately turned to look away when they saw her notice them.

Harry looked behind her and saw the collection of framed photographs on the wall of the entryway – pictures of Lorcan and Lysander as babies and as toddlers, of Luna and Rolf on their wedding day, of Luna and Xenophilius and Luna's very alive mother, of Rolf and his family – and gave a deep sigh.

"Right, sorry about that," Harry said turning back to the group while pointing at the pictures. She immediately regretted her apology when a cacophony of noise erupted from the group.

"Oh what? No need to apologize –"

" – have no idea what you're talking about – "

" – are you really a witch?"

"Does that mean your stories are true?"

"Why can I not get a proper reading?" Stark asked, holding up his phone for Harry to see. Harry looked down at his phone and watched as the screen displayed different graphs and charts of information Harry could not understand. She shrugged her shoulders.

"Technology and magic don't really mix very well," Harry told him, causing the rest of the room to quiet down.

"Why's that?" Stark asked as he got up from the floor so he could have the conversation at her eyelevel.

"I have no idea," Harry answered honestly. She thought about the magical cameras, and radios, and cars, and she tried to come up with a way to explain the relationship between magic and technology.

"Wizards and witches don't really have need for technology and any time we find an invention from the muggle world we want to appropriate it's never anything too advanced technologically speaking. I don't know if there even is any relationship between magic and technology, so," Harry trailed off in her thought, rubbing the back of her neck out of embarrassment. Stark looked down at his phone in concentration and began to fiddle with it as if the information Harry provided was enough to get him to understand why his phone was failing.

"Muggle?" Potts asked, looking at Harry with a questioning stare.

"Oh, right," Harry said, realizing that they wouldn't understand the term, "a muggle is someone without magic. So you lot are muggles."

Harry would have to explain the term to Steve as well; just one of the many things she would have to tell him about.

"So you're really a witch?" Lorcan asked in awe. Lorcan and Lysander both looked at Harry with wide eyes, as if she was Santa Claus.

"Yep," Harry replied, walking over to the boys. She got down on her knees so she was at their level, her face serious.

"You know how I said it was okay for you to curse around me but no one else?" Harry asked, looking them both in the eye.

"Yes," the boys replied, nodding their heads, though Harry could see they looked guilty about something.

"See Pepper! That wasn't my fault!" Tony exclaimed, pointing his finger at Harry. Potts gave Stark a look that clearly said 'I don't care whose fault it was, you shouldn't have done it in the first place.'

"Do I even want to know what happened?" Harry asked Banner, who tried to hide his amusement.

"Probably not," he answered with a slight smile.

"Right," Harry said, drawing out the word as she looked back at the boys, "well, it's obvious to me that you both went against that order."

Harry looked at them sternly, and she was happy to see that they at least looked apologetic.

"Sorry," they apologized at the same time.

"That's okay, mistakes happen," Harry told them, glad that they didn't slip a curse around their family or at school as of yet.

"Do you want to make it up to me?" she asked them. The boys immediately started to nod their heads, causing Harry to smile.

"Right, well, the way you can make it up to me is if you keep the fact that I'm a witch a secret. So no telling anyone outside of those present today about the fact that I can do magic and that I'm a witch – deal?" Harry asked, looking expectantly at the boys.

"Deal," they said, nodding their heads earnestly.

"Good," Harry replied, getting back up to her feet.

"That's it?" Stark asked as Harry stood back up.

"What's it?" she asked, turning to look at him as he held out his hand towards the twins.

"You aren't going to tell them off for getting me in trouble?" he asked, and it was a good thing Harry could tell he was being sarcastic otherwise there would be a problem.

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "I mainly don't have to tell them off because they didn't do anything wrong. You, on the other hand – "

She let her sentence trail off as she pointed an accusatory finger at Stark. She felt satisfied to see him flinch back at her glare, and to hear the twins giggling behind her.

"Before you go turning me into a newt, I would just like to say that I plead not guilty," Stark cut in, placing his phone back into his pants pocket.

Harry looked at him in disbelief before turning to look at Potts and Banner, giving them a questioning look while she was at it.

"Tony's already sleeping on the couch for the rest of the week," Potts said, looking sternly at Stark.

"I still think that's a cruel and unusual punishment," Stark said.

Being friends with Ron and Hermione for almost ten years made Harry rather adept at realizing when an argument was about to happen.

"Right, well, I don't care," Harry said, trying to stop the flirtatious fight before it could begin. "What I do care about, though, is that you three don't tell anyone else about the fact I'm a witch."

Harry pointed to the three adults in turn, spending longer on Stark to give him a more pointed glare.

"You're secret is safe with us," Potts said, giving Harry a reassuring smile, "and don't worry, I'll keep an eye on him." She nodded towards her boyfriend, who gave her a hurt look.

"Pepper, you wound me! It's as if you don't think I can keep a secret!"

"Tony are you serious? You're the man who told the entire world that he was Iron Man," Pepper responded to Stark's outburst; Stark, having nothing to say to that, pouted.

"Besides, it's not like anyone's going to believe us," Banner said, trying to draw the conversation back to the topic at hand.

"Says the man who can transform into a green giant," Harry countered.

"Well, yes," Banner ceded, "but that was caused by science, not magic."

"Speaking of which," Stark said, no longer pouting, "what is magic and how does it work?"

Harry rolled her eyes, looking around at the curious faces of the others.

"You're really asking the wrong person," Harry answered, "you're looking for my friend, Hermione, who I'm pretty sure would be happy to explain magic to you if she was here – which she isn't."

"So you don't know?" Banner asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"It's complicated," Harry answered, running her hand through her hair.

"That's fine, we have time," Stark said, walking over to the couch Banner and Potts were sitting on and leaning against it.

"No, actually, you don't," Harry replied, "I only came in here to see if you lot needed anything to drink, not to answer questions."

"Something to drink would be lovely," Potts replied before Stark or Banner could say anything.

"Is tea okay?" Harry asked. She saw that Stark wanted to speak up, though luckily she and Potts were able to have their conversation in such a way to make it impossible for Stark to talk.

"That sounds lovely – are you okay with that, Bruce?" Potts asked Banner, who nodded his head in agreement.

"That sounds alright," he replied as he kept an eye on Stark.

"Good, I'll go make you lot some tea then," Harry said, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Stark exclaimed as he rushed over to Harry to cut her off from leaving.

"I have questions," he said, causing Harry to roll her eyes.

"Those can wait," she told him firmly, "Steve and I still have to sort things out."

"Right, after you two lovebirds kiss and make up, can you answer my questions then?" Stark asked. Harry glared at him before turning to look at Potts.

"You're a saint, I hope you know," she told her sincerely, causing Potts to smile.

"How about this," Harry said, turning back to look at Stark, "if you lot stay for dinner, I'll answer any questions I can – but I can refuse to answer any questions you have. Sound good?"

"Not really," Stark answered.

"Well it's the only offer you have, so take it or leave it, I don't care," Harry told him before walking around Stark and out of the living room.

"Stark's an arsehole," Harry announced as she entered the kitchen. Steve, who was sitting down at the table, looked up at her arrival, a smile tugging at his lips.

"He grows on you, if you can believe it," Steve answered.

"I'm a witch – I'll believe anything," Harry replied as she put the milk away. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Water's fine," Steve answered as he watched Harry filled a kettle with water before putting it on the stove.

"Right, as that boils," Harry announced as she sat down across from Steve, "your story."

That was all the prompting Steve needed to tell Harry what had happened to him since they last spoke. Harry remained quiet during his story, listening intently as Steve gave a quick summary of the events leading up to the attack in Chicago, and Bucky's appearance as the Winter Soldier.

The kettle started to screech when Steve recounted Ivan Bezukhov's tale about the origin of the Zodiac. Harry went about preparing tea for her other guests as she listened to Steve explain what the Zodiac was.

"That doesn't sound like any technology I've ever heard of," Harry commented to Steve, referring to the Zodiac.

"It definitely didn't act like technology when I interacted with it," Steve confessed, causing Harry to frown in contemplation.

"It sounds magical to me," Harry continued as she poured out the tea into three cups.

"I don't know, it sounds pretty alien to me," Steve joked, smiling good naturedly at Harry.

"Ha, ha, ha," Harry said sarcastically as she gathered the sugar and honey for the tea.

"What happened when you tried to get the Zodiac?" Harry prompted as she looked for the serving tray.

Steve finished his story, explaining the would-be attack on DC.

"And then I grabbed the Zodiac, and it showed me a lot," he concluded lamely, looking at Harry apologetically.

Harry knew what he meant by it all; the Zodiac was the object he referred to earlier, the one that showed him her and Bucky's memories.

Harry frowned in thought as she went over Steve's story. It definitely explained where his brief trust issues came from – if she went through what he had, she highly doubted she would be as easily trusting as Steve clearly still was.

"What happened to Bucky?" she asked, her mind trying to get rid of secondary concerns so it could focus on her main issue.

"He tried to take the Zodiac from my grasp; he ended up regaining all of his memories after touching it. He and Natasha are currently in Russia trying to right past wrongs," he answered, taking a sip from his water.

"What was it like, touching the Zodiac?" she asked, finally getting to the object of her concern. Steve was silent for a few seconds as he contemplated how to explain his experience to Harry.

"It was painful," he started, his eyes unfocused as he recounted the event, "it was confusing and frightening. It also made me feel like I had no control – almost felt like the Zodiac was sentient.

"I remember – the only reason it showed me Bucky's memories was because Bucky had been trying to take it from me. And the only reason why it showed me your memories had been because it had been going through mine as if it had been looking for something."

"And that something happened to be me?" Harry asked; dread filling her body at her own thought.

"Yes," Steve answered.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Harry staring down at the ready tray of tea that was slowly getting cold. Trying to calm down her mind, she reached over and tapped each cup of tea, watching as steam once again started to rise from the cups.

Harry saw Steve looking curiously at the steam.

"I just made the tea hot again," she explained, causing Steve to look at Harry once more.

"Right," he replied, still not used to seeing Harry perform magic in front of him.

"When the Zodiac showed you memories: were you in first person or third person?" Harry asked, trying to gather more evidence to see if her theory was correct.

"I was watching the memories as a spectator up until the very last memory," Steve replied, causing Harry to look at him curiously.

"What was the last memory?" Steve's face tightened at Harry's question, as though he didn't want to tell her what the memory was.

"It was you stabbing me in the chest with a knife," he confessed, causing Harry's eyebrows to rise up to her hairline in surprise.

"I have never done that," Harry told him sincerely, to which Steve nodded in agreement.

"I know you haven't," he assured. "To be honest, the last couple of memories I saw of your life were not as clear as the rest I saw. You stabbing me was the only one I saw in first person, and it was extremely blurry."

Harry's mind descended into overdrive, going over everything she had learned about the Zodiac.

When completely whole, the Zodiac was a crystal, orange, Möbius strip; it could not be destroyed as evident by the fact that people were able to separate it into two different liquids, which combined back into a crystal when brought together. According to Steve it was sentient, and it showed Steve the past and possible futures, if the memory of something that has yet to – or never will – occur was anything to go by.

At best, the Zodiac was some alien technology that had ended up on Earth for some unknown reason. At worst, the Zodiac was the Time Stone, one of the six Infinity Stones Schmidt had been trying to get his hands on.

Knowing her luck, it was the latter.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, forcing Harry out of her thoughts.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," she answered, shaking her head as if that would get rid of her thoughts. "No wonder you didn't trust me!" she continued, "If I saw a friend stabbing me in the chest I would be suspicious of them too."

"Well, at least you weren't stabbing me in the back," Steve joked, causing Harry to snort.

"Right," Harry said, standing up from her seat, "I should take the tea to your friends before it gets cold – again."

Harry left the kitchen with the tray of tea, making her way back to the living room. She entered to see Potts and Banner talking on the couch, and Stark entertaining Lorcan and Lysander by building a house of picture frames.

"That's not going to end well," Harry said, depositing the tray onto the coffee table. She saw Lorcan and Lysander's homework piled nicely off to the side, and a quick glance showed that they were done.

"It's his fifth attempt – it hasn't been ending well," Banner said in greeting, causing Harry to smirk.

"Thank you for the drinks," Potts said as she reached over for a cup of tea.

"Well, thank you for helping them with homework. Honestly, you're a saint," Harry told her, waving off her gratitude like it was nothing.

"To be honest, the boys were better behaved than most of the board-members I have to deal with – they're definitely better behaved than my boyfriend," Potts replied as she took a sip of her tea.

"Speaking of him," Harry said, glancing over to look at Stark and the boys, "I thought he would be hounding me for questions by now."

"I think his new plan is to try and get the twins to ask you the questions he wants answered. He thinks you'd be more likely to answer their questions than his," Banner answered with a sardonic smile.

"Well, he's not wrong," Harry replied, running her hand through her hair.

"Did we ever introduce ourselves?" Potts asked, causing Harry to frown as she thought back over their meeting.

"No, we haven't," Harry said, recalling that Stark was the only one who introduced himself. "I guess we all just knew of each other."

"Right, well, I'm Pepper Potts. You can call me Pepper," she replied, holding out a hand for Harry to shake. Harry noticed that Pepper had a very firm handshake, no doubt a byproduct of being a CEO of a major corporation.

"Nice to meet you Pepper," Harry said, trying not to think of the previous time she had said those words to the Pepper Potts of her own universe, "I'm Harry Peverell. You can call me Harry."

"I'm Bruce," he said, waving slightly. Harry guessed he didn't feel the need to say his last name since she had already said it earlier to him.

"Do you prefer Bruce or Dr. Banner?" Harry asked his opinion.

"At this point it doesn't matter," Banner said, causing Harry to nod in understanding.

A crash over by Stark and the twins caused Harry to spin around on instinct, only to be greeted with the sight of broken picture frames, a scared set of twins, and a surprised Stark.

"That wasn't supposed to crash," Stark said in way of apology. Pepper was not amused, and the twins were about to start apologizing when Harry just gave a loud sigh.

"You did that on purpose," Harry accused Stark, who looked offended by her accusation.

"I did no such thing," he lied, causing Harry to roll her eyes.

"Right," she said, drawing out the word like Snape used to do.

"Guys, don't move," Harry commanded to the twins.

She came to the conclusion that they all already knew about her magic, so her next step wouldn't freak them out too badly.

Snapping her fingers, the group watched as the broken picture frames repaired themselves before flying back to their proper places around the room. She felt oddly satisfied to see five identical looks of shock and awe; almost as satisfied as she felt over the fact that she could use her magic blatantly once more.

"Well, see you all at dinner then," Harry declared before turning and leaving the living room once more.

"Okay, where were we?" Harry asked as she entered the kitchen, sitting back down in her seat across from Steve.

"I just finished telling you my story," Steve answered, as he looked up from the picture he was drawing with his finger on the table.

"Right, so my turn. What do you want to know?" Harry asked, watching Steve as he went back to sketching his invisible picture as he thought.

"I just want to know enough to give me context. We can start there and if you want to tell me anything else, then, I'm here to listen," Steve answered at last. Harry nodded in understanding, marveling over the fact he wasn't demanding her life story.

"Right, context – I can do context," Harry said, falling silent as she tried to think of where to start.

She stood up and started to prepare dinner – spaghetti and salad.

"The first thing you need to know is that, in my universe, there are two societies: there is the non-magical world, and there is the magical world that is hidden from the non-magical one. The magical world is hidden for many reasons, though that hadn't always been the case. When I was going to school it was, it had been for hundreds of years," Harry trailed off after realizing she was rambling. Filling up a pot with water, she tried again.

"So, in the magical world we refer to people from the non-magical world as 'muggles.'"

"So I would be a muggle?" Steve asked, cutting Harry off.

"Yes, you are," Harry replied, turning the water off once the pot was full.

"Now, the wizarding world – the magical world," Harry said, telling Steve she was going to use the terms interchangeably from then on, "is basically just like the muggle world except with the added benefit of magic. So we have governments, and good people, and bad people, and schools, and jobs, and everything. Us having magic has not created a utopia or anything – if anything having magic has kind of made us as a society worse off than the muggle one.

"The thing about the wizarding world is that the power structure – those in power and the powerless – it's constructed differently than in the muggle world. We don't have rampant sexism or racism – I mean, it's there, but not as blatantly as in the muggle world. After all, it's silly to accuse someone of being lesser based off gender or race if they are competent in magic – which is where our basic power structure comes from. Those in power are magically powerful – they know how to command magic and excel at it.

"Which is where our form of bigotry comes from. There are, of course, wizards and witches in my world who believe muggles are lesser beings because they can't perform magic – and it's this belief that has created the idea of 'Blood status' in my world. Basically, the wizarding world discriminates based on pedigree. Purebloods are wizards or witches whose parents – and subsequently grandparents – are all magical. Muggleborns are wizards or witches whose parents are muggles. And half-bloods are those who are somewhere in-between. Lastly, squibs are muggles born from wizards and witches. Following me so far?"

"Yes, so far. It's pretty self-explanatory," Steve said, nodding to show his understanding.

"Good. Anyway, to assert dominance, pureblooded wizards and witches started to claim that blood status was an important thing – that purebloods were more powerful magically than a witch or a wizard with a muggle ancestor. It's complete bullshit but people believe it anyway.

"Blood status has been the bane of the wizarding world for thousands of years – so much so that it plays a part in my school's foundation. Basically, the school I went to – Hogwarts – was founded by four people. One of the people, Salazar Slytherin, was a pureblood who believed the whole 'muggles are evil, muggleborns shouldn't be taught magic, purebloods are the only ones worthy to be taught magic, etc.'

"Basically, the other founders didn't agree and they all had a big fight, causing Slytherin to leave. This, of course, caused a riff in the school, because the Gryffindors – students of the founder Godric Gryffindor – were in rivalry with the Slytherins because Gryffindor and Slytherin were the ones to really go at it and fight. The whole rivalry was still active when I was attending school, so that goes to show you how a thousand year rivalry can still exist in the wizarding world.

"Anyway, moving forward. The wizarding world is not free from evil people – it has known its fair share of dark wizards. Dark wizards are those who practice the Dark Arts, and while dark magic as a whole is not inherently evil, there are some branches of it that are strictly soul-destroying and dangerous when used in any hands, no matter how well intentioned the person is. So every couple of years the wizarding world has to face a Dark Lord or two – a Dark Lord being a wizard or witch who has studied the Dark Arts to the point of corruption.

"One Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, gained popularity in the 1970s in my world. Voldemort, whose real name was Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr, was the heir of Salazar Slytherin and gained followers through his campaign of exterminating muggles and asserting purebloods as the dominant class in the wizarding world."

"So he was the wizarding equivalent of Hitler, then?" Steve asked.

"Yep. That is actually a really good analogy for what he did later on," Harry said offhandedly as she put the spaghetti into the boiling water.

"So Voldemort, who was half-blood himself – his mother was a pureblood witch, his father was a muggle – gained pureblood followers from the time he was still in school during the 40s all the way up to and past the 70s, where he started to act out and try and fulfill all his promises that he made to his followers. He had caused so much death and destruction in both the wizarding world and the muggle world that soon the people in the magical communities around the world started to fear his name.

"So instead of calling him Voldemort, people would refer to him as you-know-who and he-who-must-not-be-named, which was really fucking annoying if I'm being perfectly honest.

"Anyway, my parents were going to school at the height of his power in the 70s, and when they graduated, their headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, asked them and their friends if they wanted to join his resistance group, the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore had a reputation of being a great wizard – had all these political titles – and he was responsible for defeating the last Dark Lord that plagued the wizarding world. So when Voldemort came to power he obviously was the one to create the resistance movement – which made sense considering Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort actually feared, mainly because Dumbledore actually taught Voldemort when he went to school and knew what he was getting up to.

"My parents would have been targeted by Voldemort whether or not they agreed to join the Order; my mother was a muggleborn, and my father was a pureblood who believed that muggles and muggleborns were humans – so he was considered a blood traitor by those who bought the whole pureblood supremacy thinking. So my parents and their friends joined the Order right out of school.

"And for a while it seemed like they were making a difference – a bunch of eighteen year olds fighting against a bunch of dark wizards. Granted, my parents and their friends weren't the only ones in the group – there were far older and more experienced wizards and witches in the Order, but you know, my parents were eighteen.

"They were nineteen when they married. A few months later they found out that my mother was pregnant with me, and yet they still fought against Voldemort and his followers – known as Death Eaters. A few months before I was born, a prophecy was made about a boy who would have the power to defeat Voldemort."

"A prophecy?" Steve asked, interrupting Harry's story.

"Yeah, I know – it sounds like a load of bullshit," Harry replied as she chopped up lettuce for the salad.

"It just seems – "

"Fantastical?" Harry supplemented when Steve couldn't find a word.

"I was going to say crazy," he replied, causing Harry to laugh.

"No, you're right, it is crazy," she agreed. Harry took a small break in her explanation as she washed the lettuce.

"So, a prophecy was made; it said that a boy born at the end of July to parents who had fought against Voldemort three times and survived would be the one to ultimately defeat the man. At the time my parents had faced Voldemort twice and had survived, and they believed that I was going to be born a boy.

"There was another couple in the Order, Frank and Alice Longbottom, who had also fought against Voldemort twice and survived, who were also expecting a baby boy at the end of July. Dumbledore, who had heard the prophecy, had kept it a secret from the Order until he had more evidence for who it was supposed to be about.

"The third time my parents and the Longbottoms had gone up against Voldemort was when my mother and Alice Longbottom were just showing pregnancy. Voldemort and a small group of his Death Eaters attacked the Order during a meeting, and during the fight my mother was hit by a dark curse.

"The curse was a pretty old vengeance curse – one that was normally used on adulterers or women who had strayed from the pureblood line of thinking. Its purpose was to force a choice on the mother – either the mother could choose herself, or her baby, but whatever the choice it would result in the death of the other. So, if the mother picked herself, she would live but her baby would die; if the mother picked her child, then she would die."

"You're mother picked you, then?" Steve asked, and Harry could hear the sadness in his voice.

"Obviously," Harry replied as she checked the spaghetti.

"I wasn't lying to you when I said my mother died in childbirth," Harry continued, not satisfied with the spaghetti yet. "The end of July rolled around and the Longbottoms gave birth to my friend, Neville, on July 30th. The next day, July 31st, I was born. My mother died before I was even born – they had to cut me out of her corpse. Of course, my father was distraught, and he had the added pressure of trying to give me a girl's name because he had thought I was going to be born a boy. Apparently false positives are possible even with magic.

"So he named me Rose Harriet Potter, but he always called me Harry because that was the name my mother liked and it was going to be my name had I been born a boy."

"Rose Potter?" Steve asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I don't particularly like the name Rose, which is why I go by Harry. And Potter is my real last name," Harry explained, not sure why Steve was so surprised.

"I think I met your counterpart," Steve said suddenly, causing Harry to react in surprise herself.

"Really?" she asked, turning off the heat from under the noodles.

"Yeah, when I was with Peggy, I met a Rose Potter. God I wondered why I thought she was familiar, she must have slipped my mind – it happened a while ago," Steve said in wonder.

"Well, that is a big reason why I changed my name – I didn't want any questions as to why I had the same name and parents as someone already living," Harry explained, "besides, I really do prefer Harry over Rose."

"That makes sense – good thinking on your part," Steve said, watching as Harry took out a jar of pre-made pasta sauce from the fridge.

"Don't tell the others that I didn't actually make the sauce, will you?" Harry asked as she poured it into a saucepan.

"I'll try not to," he joked, causing Harry to smile.

"Good. Now, where was I – right, I was born. Anyway, it was pretty obvious after I was born that Neville was going to be the child of the prophecy, though no one outside the Order knew I had been born a girl at first. To keep the charade up, Dumbledore, the Longbottoms, and my father decided that it would be best if we all went into hiding together – I mean, without Dumbledore, that is.

"So my father and I went into hiding with the Longbottoms, living in my father's house in Godric's Hollow. Now, there's a protection ward known as the fidelius charm, which conceals a secret inside a living person – so my father convinced the Longbottoms to use his friend, Peter Pettigrew, to be the secret keeper of their location because Voldemort would never suspect it would be Pettigrew to hold the secret because everyone knew that Sirius Black, my godfather and my father's best friend, would be the likely candidate of being the secret keeper.

"And it would have been a great plan had it not been for the fact that Pettigrew was a spy for Voldemort, and told Voldemort where we were hiding out. So Halloween, when I was fifteen month old, Voldemort came to where we were hiding out, killed my dad, Alice and Frank Longbottom, and tried to kill Neville but his killing curse ended up rebounding and hit Voldemort instead. Apparently Frank had sacrificed himself for Neville, and it had created a protection of Love that protected Neville from Voldemort's killing curse – very sentimental but it has always sounded crazy to me.

"Anyway, Neville was the first person to ever survive the killing curse – which has the only purpose of killing people – Voldemort was gone – the majority of people thought he was dead, others knew he would come back – and Neville and I were orphans.

"Neville went off to live with his grandmother – protection through blood or something like that – and I was sent to live with my Aunt and Uncle because my godfather thought it would be a good idea to try and confront the traitor, Pettigrew, without telling anyone before hand; except it ended up resulting in my godfather being sent off to prison for a crime he didn't commit and Pettigrew, the real perpetrator, going off and living as a rat for twelve years – he actually ended up being Ron's pet rat, which was disturbing to realize.

"Anyway, not much to say about my Aunt and Uncle. They're muggles and they're scared of magic, so I was fucked. They were abusive and neglectful and the only good thing they ever did for me was drop me off on the streets when I was seven years old."

"Why did they do that?" Steve asked, though he immediately wished he hadn't when he saw Harry tense.

"I didn't even tell my friends the reason why they did it," Harry confessed, looking at Steve with a pained look on her face.

"Okay, that's fine, you don't need to tell me either," Steve said sincerely. Harry felt so relieved by Steve's answer, and yet she also felt guilty for some reason.

The event had happened when she was seven – that was over fourteen years ago for Harry, she should be over it by now.

"No, I can – it's fine, I can tell you. After all, honesty and everything," Harry said, draining the spaghetti.

"You really don't have to," Steve assured once more, causing Harry to smile sadly.

"No, it's fine. I need to get it off my chest at some point. Besides, if you don't like me after this story then our friendship is fucked because it only gets worse from there," Harry confessed with a laugh.

"I was seven years old, it was a rainy day after school. My cousin had been picked up earlier that day and neither my Aunt nor Uncle came to pick me up. I was the last one at the school and so I just told the teacher that my Uncle was going to pick me up around the corner and I started to walk home. About halfway there a man in a car asked if I wanted a ride home – I declined because I didn't want to get in trouble with my Aunt and Uncle. He drove away and I thought he was gone but a block later someone put a rag over my mouth and kidnapped me.

"When I woke up I was tied up in the man's kitchen. He was a sex trafficker, and apparently he had a couple clients who were interested in someone of my age and appearance – all of whom would pay serious money to buy me. He really liked the fact that my name was Rose, and he kept using gardening terminology as sexual innuendo. The fucker made me hate my name. The thing was, he left me alone tied up but he did such a poor job of it that I was able to reach for a knife on the counter top; I cut myself loose and tried to leave but he caught me. We fought, and during the fight I accidentally slit his throat with the knife.

"The guy was the first person I had ever killed and it was an accident. Suffice to say I ran back to my Aunt and Uncle's house drenched in the man's blood. I'm pretty sure my magic was the only thing keeping me going, getting me back to the house. It took me the entire night to run back to the house, and when my Aunt opened the door to see me covered in dry blood, well, it didn't take my Aunt and Uncle very long to decide that they had to get rid of me. Later that night, my Uncle dropped me off in London, told me if I ever sought them out again I would wish I'd 'never been born,' and he left. That was the last time I've seen them and I was better off without them to be perfectly honest."

Silence reigned after Harry's confession; both were lost in their own thoughts.

Harry found that she was actually much happier after telling Steve the story – she had kept it a secret from everyone for so long she hadn't realized it still affected her even after all that time. She knew, at thirteen, that it was still an issue for her, considering how the Dementors brought up the man's sexual taunts and gurgling last breaths in addition to her father's last words.

"'It only gets worse from here?'" Steve repeated Harry's words, and Harry saw Steve look at her with a sad expression on his face – though she was happy to see there wasn't a trace of pity on it.

"Well, killing him was an accident – everyone else was on purpose," Harry answered honestly, watching for any changes in Steve's expression.

She watched as he took a few deep breathes, before nodding his head.

"Okay, go on," he told Harry, causing her to raise her eyebrows in surprise.

"Really? You don't want to comment on anything you've just heard?" she asked, trying to make sure Steve comprehended what was going on.

"I'm not going to be angry at you for fighting against a terrible man – you said it yourself, it was an accident and it seemed like he wasn't going to be caught anytime soon. You did nothing wrong. And the others – I'd be a hypocrite if I judged you for killing people. I'm guessing, the way this story is going, that the others you had killed had been during a battle?" he asked, already knowing the answer to his own question.

"Yes, they were. I might have gotten the award for 'most kills' during the Final Battle," Harry confessed, her voice cringing as if it was a terrible achievement to be awarded.

"Right, well. It sounds to me like you're a fighter, not a killer, so I can't really be angry at you for that. I can be disappointed, but not angry – it's definitely not going to ruin our friendship or anything," Steve said.

Harry didn't realize how tense she had been until she had relaxed under his words; it was a big relief for Harry, Steve accepting her less than pleasant actions.

"You are being really understanding about this," Harry told him as she stirred the pasta sauce.

"Well, I am friends with two ex-Russian assassins. It would be hypocritical if I was still their friend but not yours," he told her, causing Harry to smile.

"Right, that would be."

Silence once again descended between the two as Harry took out the toppings for the salad.

"On with your story?" Steve questioned, prompting Harry to continue.

"Right, on with my story.

"The first couple of months were hell, but then I stumbled upon the wizarding world, made myself my bracelets, and life became considerably easier after that."

"Your bracelets?" Steve asked, pointing towards her wrists.

"Yeah," Harry said, rolling up her sleeves, "my bracelets are my magical-foci. They allow me to do magic. They're nice – normally witches and wizards use wands, which is all well and good but I prefer my bracelets.

"Holly and Elder," Harry declared, holding up her right and left wrist respectively to show Steve her bracelets. "There's a lot I can tell you about how they work but it's not important knowledge if you want to understand the overall narrative," she confessed.

"I'm sure Stark and Banner would be more interested in that than me," Steve replied, causing Harry to nod her head in agreement.

"You're probably right about that. Anyway, back to the story. I was accepted to Hogwarts when I was eleven, got sorted into Gryffindor with my friends, Ron, Neville, and Hermione. We all really became friends after Halloween when Ron, Neville, and I saved Hermione from a Mountain Troll.

"After that we were pretty big trouble makers. Basically, to gloss over my school years: first year we stopped a Death Eater from stealing a magical artifact that would have brought Voldemort back into power; second year I was petrified by a basilisk – a giant snake – as was Hermione, while Neville and Ron saved Ron's sister, Ginny, from being possessed by one of Voldemort's horcruxes, which is an object that houses a part of a person's soul – "

"Wait, WHAT?!" Steve asked, the first time he was shocked during Harry's story.

"A horcrux is really dark magic – I'd rather not get into right now, but just keep in mind that Voldemort created like, seven horcruxes which meant he was practically immortal," Harry explained offhandedly, trying to get to the rest of her story.

"Part of his soul?" Steve asked, genuinely queasy at the thought.

"Yes. Again, I'd rather not go into it right now – especially not when we're about to eat," Harry told him, her face apologetic for even bringing up the topic.

"Okay, fine. Go on," Steve said, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Alright. Third year my godfather escaped from prison and my friends and I learned about what really happened the night my father died. Fourth year Neville was entered in a competition for the sole purpose of delivering him to where Voldemort was being resurrected – meaning it was just a giant ploy to get Voldemort back into power. Fourth year also happened to be the year I thought I was losing my mind because I kept forgetting things and the things I happened to be forgetting where all the times I confronted the Death Eater who had put Neville into the competition – that was not fun; I missed the last task because the fucker finally decided to just lock me up in his trunk with the man he was impersonating."

"What?" Steve asked, part confused, part worried.

"I'll explain later," Harry promised. She was trying to get him up to speed with what had happened in her life up to her entering the alternate universe. At Steve's nod, she continued.

"My fifth year: Neville had witnessed Voldemort's return the previous school term, no one outside of a small group of people believed him; Dumbledore reinstated the Order of the Phoenix, which had much smaller numbers than when my parents were involved; our Defense Against the Dark Art teacher was a horrendous bitch; I served detention with her – "

Harry said, holding up her right hand where the words 'I must not tell lies' were scarred onto her skin, causing Steve to get up in order to get a better look.

" – then my friends convinced me to teach a Defense club because I was always the best at dueling; my friends and I started the DA – which stands for Dumbledore's Army at Ginny's suggestion; by the end of term, shit had hit the fan; Neville, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and I went to the Ministry of Magic because we were lead to believe that Neville's Grandmother was being held hostage down in the Department of Mysteries. She hadn't been – it was a trap set up by a bunch of Death Eaters and Voldemort; the six of us fought against them; Neville and I were the only ones to stay conscious until the Order arrived with back-up. Among the Order was my godfather, who ended up getting killed by his insane cousin, who was a Death Eater.

"Anyway, long year short – Voldemort dueled with Dumbledore in the Ministry, and the Minister of Magic and a bunch of others finally saw with their own eyes that the bastard was back, so Neville was no longer deemed a liar.

"Sixth year the only real thing of note was that Dumbledore was dying, I found out my potions professor turned Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher used to be friends with my mother – we came to an understanding after that. I was the only one to know for sure that he was still on our side after he had killed Dumbledore – he did so on Dumbledore's orders, by the way. Anyway that helped convince Voldemort that Snape was on his side instead of Dumbledore's. With Dumbledore gone everyone in the Order had their last commands from him. Neville, Ron, and Hermione were tasked to find the rest of Voldemort's horcruxes; he asked me to stay at Hogwarts for my final year to help Snape protect the students and the school from Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

"So I did. Before my seventh year even started I went around London and told a select group of muggles about Voldemort – I told them how to protect themselves and I tasked them with protecting the city. Anyway, Ginny and Luna learned about that and they started calling me the General. That nickname spread once I started to protest against the Death Eaters and Voldemort while at school. We started up the DA again and we ended up being the only group to actively protest against Voldemort on a daily basis. Outside of school and the Order, in the rest of the world, everyone was completely obedient to Voldemort, which pissed me off. Anyway, May 2nd was the final battle that took place at Hogwarts. I was able to convince the adults to lower the mininmum age for fighting from seventeen down to fifteen because I knew who was competent because I was the one to end up teaching the majority of the students how to fight. The battle took the entire night, but come morning we won. Voldemort was dead, but so many others – a lot of my friends didn't make it.

"Once the war was over – because they insisted on calling it a war – I signed up to be an auror, a dark wizard hunter. I guess you can think of aurors as a cross between Scotland Yard and SHIELD. Neville, Ron, and I all became aurors, and for the first year we were unbeatable. Once all the Death Eaters were captured, though, Neville and Ron left to go pursue other careers; Neville went on to study Herbology while Ron went to help his brother George at the joke shop. That left me alone with a bunch of aurors who didn't even have the decency of fighting during the Final Battle.

"They always said I wasn't a real auror because I didn't go through proper training, and I didn't respect any of them because they sat, safe at home, while children died at the hands of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. There was no respect between any of us.

"I was nineteen, an auror for over a year at this point, when my universe's Nick Fury came over and asked my department for help in apprehending Johann Schmidt, who was wanted for conspiracy by the US Department of Magic. Long story short, we failed in apprehending Schmidt, I was fired from being an auror, and Fury came and asked if I wanted to pursue Schmidt on my own – I was hungover when I agreed to the job.

"So slowly I began to uncover what Schmidt was trying to do. He found a myth about how the universe was created. It talked about an all powerful being who created the universe and then who grew lonely. The story goes that the being had two options: to dissolve her powers into the universe or to break her powers up into different pieces. The universe she dissolved her powers was apparently mine – her powers permeating the universe and creating magic. The universe where she broke her powers up into different pieces is apparently this one. The items that contain the being's powers are collectively called the Infinity Stones, six stones each with a different property of the universe they control – time, space, reality, power, mind, and soul.

"Schmidt became obsessed with the story of the Stones, and he believed that if he acquired all six that he could become a god."

"Oddly enough that sounds like the Johann Schmidt I knew," Steve cut it, causing Harry to smile sardonically.

"That's probably because they were counterparts to each other," Harry told him; she herself had been surprised when she had read up on the Johann Schmidt of this world, only to find out that the man who lived in the 40s was the counterpart to the man who had been causing her so much grief.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Steve asked, and Harry could see that he was having a hard time taking in her story.

"Because the universe is weird?" Harry replied with a question herself. Steve shrugged in response, and Harry continued with her story.

"Anyway, Schmidt wanted the Stones, however he had no way of getting them. That is until he discovered an ancient ritual that stated it could transport people into a different universe – "

"How did it even know it could do that?" Steve asked, "I mean, it's not like that's something you can check."

"No, it's really not," Harry agreed, "though at that point Schmidt didn't really care whether the ritual was real or fake – he had complete faith that he would acquire the Stones no matter what. Something about a prophecy or something."

"You didn't believe him?" Steve asked jokingly. Harry threw her hands out in response.

"Well, obviously he was wrong," she replied, which caused the two to smile.

"So what was the ritual?" Steve asked, unease in his voice.

"It basically required human sacrifices," Harry told him.

"Of course it did," Steve replied, at his limit of new information he wanted to take in for the day.

"Seven people who were ordinary in my world but extraordinary in the one Schmidt wanted to travel to," Harry continued, knowing her story was almost done.

"Who were the people?" Steve asked, watching as Harry checked the pasta to make sure it was actually done.

"Do you really need to ask?" Harry asked in return, giving Steve a pointed look.

"He killed off the counterparts to me and the other Avengers, didn't he?" Steve asked with a sigh.

"And Loki's counterpart," Harry added, holding up seven fingers for Steve to see.

"Two by poison," Harry began, dropping two fingers from the count, "two by stabbing; two by hanging; one by beheading."

"That's disturbing," Steve said, commenting on how easy it was for Harry to recount such knowledge.

"Yeah, it really was," she replied, turning off the heat for the pasta sauce. They stood next to each other, looking out at the food that was ready to eat.

"I failed, obviously," Harry broke the silence, running a hand through her hair as she did so.

"Schmidt isn't here – or is he?" Steve asked, suddenly panicked.

"No, no, Schmidt didn't make it through. I made sure of that," she assured, causing Steve to relax from his sudden panic.

"Then you didn't fail," he told her, looking at her with more sincerity than she thought she deserved.

"Well, I did. I mean, I couldn't prevent any of the deaths Schmidt had committed against his victims. And I'm still here, rather than at home, which I count as a big failure," Harry said, her tone melancholy.

"You prevented Schmidt from achieving his goal – that in itself is a big success," Steve told Harry, as though he could convince her to get out of her depressive thoughts with just a few kind words.

"So, am I all caught up now?" Steve asked, changing the subject in an attempt to cheer Harry up.

"Yes, for the most part. I gave you the simple version of events," Harry replied, giving Steve a false smile.

"That was the simple version?" Steve asked incredulously.

"Hey, if I told you the long version we'd be here all night," Harry told him with a mockingly-stern expression on her face. "Besides, I'm still angry at you, remember?"

"Right," Steve said, rolling his eyes, "how could I forget about that."

"Oi!" Harry said, waving the pair of kitchen tongs at Steve, "don't be a jackass."

"Yes ma'am," Steve replied sarcastically. Harry eyed Steve, and the longer they looked at each other the harder it was for them to contain their smiles. "Well, dinner's ready."

* * *

Author's Note:

Well I was late on submitting that.

Anyway thank you all so much for all the support of this story. I mean, over a thousand of you have this story on alert and that's crazy to me. Thank you so much for everything.

Some news though: I have the winners of the contest - they are TheNorwegianAuthor and the guest who signed in as 1234. I will be getting in touch with the former soon, the latter might want to review saying how to get in contact with them if they still want the prize.

More news: I'm not going to update next week - I have a midterm I have to study for and that's more of a priority than the story. On the plus side, Spring Break is the week after next, so expect more updates during that time.

Lastly, hope you all enjoy the info-dump (guess who has read the entire Sherlock Holmes canon and had basically taken a leaf out of how those stories are written). Happy Tuesday!

Edit Note: It took me over thirty minutes to manually space this chapter because this website is acting weird right now. That was a pain. Any errors you find with spacing are because of this - just tell me and I'll fix it.


	14. Chapter 13

"Dinner is ready," Harry announced as she entered the living room.

By the way the room quieted at her announcement, coupled with the fact that Stark and Pepper were standing face-to-face while Banner and the kids sat watching them, Harry could tell that she had interrupted an argument.

"Hear that Tony? Dinner is ready. I guess it's too late now to order take-out," Pepper told her boyfriend with a false-cheeriness before walking towards Harry. Harry tilted her head, processing Pepper's words.

"Was Stark going to order take-out?" Harry asked Banner, hoping for a third-party explanation of the argument.

In response, Banner gave Harry a look that she was intimately familiar with. It was a look she, Neville, and Ginny always had whenever Ron and Hermione started to argue – the look worn by the people who were subjected to arguments between two friends because the friends were inept at flirting. It was a long-suffering look.

"I merely thought that you would appreciate not having to cook after your talk with the Cap," Stark answered instead. While the thought was appreciated, Harry could tell he had ulterior motives.

"You just wanted to get your questions answered faster – didn't you?" Harry asked with a sigh.

"Peverell, do you really think I'm that devious?" Stark asked with a hurt expression on his face, causing the Harry and Pepper to roll their eyes.

"Don't answer that," he replied to his own question after seeing the looks the two women were giving him.

"Harry, what's quantum superposition?" Lysander piped up, sliding off the couch as he asked his question.

Harry glared at Stark, her mind drawing a blank as she tried to think about what it was. While she had researched quite a bit of science in her attempt to find a way back home, the extent of her knowledge only included anything that was directly involved with the theory behind alternate universes.

So it wasn't that much.

"I don't know Lysander," she told him, still glaring at Stark, "What is quantum superposition, Stark?"

"Well, it's nice of you to ask -" Stark began, only to cut himself off at the looks Pepper and Harry were giving him.

"Are you two related?" he asked instead, pointing between Pepper and Harry, "Because you both have the same look on your faces and it's starting to creep me out."

"Right, well, dinner is ready," Harry said again in an effort to change the subject. The twins wasted no time and rushed from the living room, Banner got up from the couch at a leisurely pace to walk out with Pepper.

That left Harry waiting for Stark to move, but all he wanted to do was look at Harry like she was an equation he had to solve.

"What?" Harry asked annoyed.

"Does magic work in relation to the quantum superposition principle? Where magic exists in both the state of existence and non-existence and we only know about it once we've observed it?" Stark questioned with an intensity Harry had only heard of from Hermione.

Harry blinked at Stark, trying to comprehend his question. In the end she decided to answer in such a way that would annoy the engineer.

"Are you asking me how magic works?" Harry asked, feinting ignorance.

"Yes," Stark replied, looking at Harry like she was slow in the head.

"Magic works because it's magic," Harry told him in a tone that suggested that she thought he was the slow one.

She relished in Stark's baffled look before she walked out of the living room, Stark hot on her tail.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked once out of his confusion. "Is there a scientific answer behind it? Are you writing off unexplained scientific anomalies as magic even though they have perfectly logical explanations? How did you fix the picture frames?"

Harry stopped right outside the kitchen and turned to face Stark in the attempt to cut off his questions.

"Reparo," Harry stated, answering the only question she had a definite answer to.

Stark looked at her with a confused expression on his face – eyes wide, eyebrows raised up and crinkled on his face.

"What?" he asked, thrown off his line of questioning at Harry's response.

"Reparo – it's a spell used to mend broken objects. Normally, if I had a wand, I would have said the spell aloud and swished my wand at the frames that were broken to repair them. However, since I don't use a wand, all I had to do was think about the intent of the spell and think about implementing it on the frames. End result: fixed picture frames," Harry explained.

She watched as Stark processed the new information, and she could see his mind whizzing with new questions.

Harry sighed – it was going to be a long night.

Not waiting for Stark, Harry entered the kitchen to see the others had already taken their seats and were just waiting on Harry and Stark to arrive. The wait was taking its toll on the twins, whom Harry had seen picking lettuce from the salad bowl and stuffing it discretely into their mouths.

Harry walked over to the head of the table, noticing that Pepper had taken the seat she had been sitting in during her discussion with Steve. She didn't mind her placement, though Harry was slightly annoyed that she would be placed at the opposite end of the table from Steve.

She sat down and started to serve food for the twins. Lorcan sat to her right, Lysander sitting next to his brother, and Steve sitting next to Lysander. Across from Steve was Pepper, who sat next to Banner. Stark plopped himself down in the seat between Banner and Harry, and he wasted no time to question Harry.

"Wait, so wands exist? Do you own a wand? How does magic work? By the sounds of it, it sounds like it works on a voice-command and intent-driven system. How does that work? Is it faith driven? What is the science behind it? Because obviously it can't operate under a 'positive thinking' type model because everyone knows that that is all complete pseudo-science and doesn't work at all."

Stark's barrage of questions and theories was starting to give Harry a headache, and she glared at the other adults as she gave Lorcan and Lysander their plates full of food. They had made it so that she would end up having to sit next to Stark in the seating arrangement; she didn't care if the table was small and she would have been in close vicinity to Stark no matter where she sat – they had purposefully made it so she would sit next to Stark.

Harry had stopped listening to Stark when it became apparent that he wasn't going to stop asking his questions; however, this didn't mean that she couldn't still hear him. She smirked as an idea popped into her mind. Snapping her fingers, Harry sighed in relief as Stark's voice cut off despite his mouth still moving.

The others looked up from their food once they registered the silence, watching as Stark continued to talk despite the fact that no sound was coming from his mouth. Harry watched as the others comprehended what was happening: Pepper looked shocked, Banner was surprised, the twins thought it was one of the funniest things they had ever seen if their laughter was anything to go by, Stark looked a cross between indignant and curious, and Steve looked disappointed.

Steve looked so disappointed.

"Oh come on. Like you aren't secretly pleased that I got him to shut up," Harry said to Steve. She tried to ignore the guilt that was beginning to form in her stomach at Steve's look because she knew she had used magic on Stark out of fun.

Steve didn't answer Harry; instead, he gave her one last disappointed look before returning to his meal in silence. Harry wanted to bang her head against the table out of frustration – damn Rogers and his high morality.

She really didn't like the fact that she was as affected by Steve's disappointment as she had been when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were disappointed in her.

Harry gave another sigh before snapping her fingers once more, giving Stark his voice back.

"I-N-G," Stark sang loudly and poorly in his reacquired voice.

Everyone looked at Stark, who clamped his mouth shut when he realized he was no longer on mute. The twins, recognizing the tune, started to giggle uncontrollably while the rest of the adults looked at Stark in amusement.

"Silencio," Harry spoke up when she saw Stark about to start another round of questions. "It's a spell used to make something or someone silent. Basically it's an extreme way of telling you to shut up."

Harry started to eat her spaghetti in an attempt to deter Stark from asking her questions again. It didn't work and Harry droned out Stark's voice as he once again started to ask her questions.

Harry knew why Steve was disappointed in her actions, but she had thought that he would know her better by now – it wasn't like she had used magic on Stark out of malicious intent. And while she could applaud Steve over his apparent sense of what was right and wrong in regard to using magic on muggles, he clearly didn't understand how magic can be used on people purely out of jest.

He also obviously didn't understand how Harry was still angry at him, and that it would be better for his safety if he didn't give her any more reasons to be mad.

"Stark," Harry said, cutting him off from his rambling questions, "remember how I told you I would answer any questions I can and that I can refuse to answer any questions you have?"

"I didn't think you would actually hold up to those rules," Stark replied to Harry's question, causing her to roll her eyes.

"Well, despite what you think, I am holding up those rules. Which means I'm not going to answer any of your questions," Harry told him, stabbing her fork down on her salad to relieve some of her anger.

"What? That's not fair," Stark protested.

"Tough," Harry replied with a full mouth.

"What about if Bruce or Pepper or the Wonder Twins ask you my questions?" Stark asked, causing Harry to roll her eyes once more.

"No, I wouldn't answer your questions if they asked instead of you. It might surprise you to learn but I didn't learn science and advanced magical theory while I was at school so I can't tell you how magic works or how it relates to science.

"And even if I could, I wouldn't tell you lot – the last thing any of us needs is a bunch of muggles trying to replicate magic," Harry concluded her rant with another bite of her salad.

"School?" Banner asked like he was making a connection in his mind. "Did you learn magic while at school?"

"Yes, I did," Harry replied, "I went to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Her answer caused Stark to snort in laughter, which prompted the twins to do the same.

"That sounds like a made up place," Banner replied, part amused and part confused.

"Well, it doesn't exist here. Back where I'm from, though, it's a real place," Harry answered, running a hand through her hair.

Stark, Banner, and Pepper looked at her with curiosity and confusion.

"Where exactly are you from?" Stark asked, intrigued.

Harry contemplated how to answer his question. Did she trust Stark, Banner, and Pepper enough to tell them the truth? Steve obviously trusted them, which means she could trust them – Steve was a pretty good judge of character, after all. She also felt like she owed them the truth; the guilt she had over allowing Stark's and Banner's counterparts to die still weighed heavily on Harry, and her uncertainty about what happened Pepper's counterpart also didn't help her guilt. She thought that maybe, if she told them the truth, that it would alleviate some of the guilt she had.

But mainly, she realized that if she wanted Stark's and Banner's help in finding a way back home then she would have to tell them the truth.

Besides, they already knew that she was a witch; adding on the fact that she was from a different universe entirely shouldn't be that big of a leap.

Harry put her fork down and turned to look at Stark and Banner with a self-deprecating smile on her face.

"Hello, my real name is Rose Harriet Potter and I'm originally from an alternate universe that is exactly the same as this one except for the fact that magic is real and aliens – as far to my knowledge – don't exist. I had arrived in this universe the day the Chitauri attacked and have kept the fact that I am from a different universe a secret up until today because I really don't want to be used as a science experiment by crazy scientists or government officials or both. Ever since arriving here I have gone by Harry Peverell because I didn't want people to question why there were two Rose Harriet Potters alive which would have drawn attention to myself.

"I'm sure you lot are curious as to how I got here. Long story short, it was from a magical ritual that I really don't want to replicate because it requires human sacrifices. So I've been stuck here for almost a year and a half with no way of getting home."

Harry finished her explanation with a sip from her water, waiting for the others to question her. She looked around at the others to gauge their reactions. It was clear to Harry that the twins didn't comprehend everything she said, however they obviously understood enough because they looked at her with their big eyes in awe. Steve was looking intently at Stark and Banner – both of whom were mulling over what Harry said – in order to judge their reactions. Pepper looked shocked but accepting, probably because she was used to the strange and impossible considering all the people she surrounded herself with.

"Are you sure you're in an alternate universe?" Banner finally asked, watching Harry for any signs of insanity or deception.

In response Harry gave him her best 'are you kidding me right now?' face, which caused Banner to shrug.

"It's a legitimate question," he replied, holding his hands up as if to simultaneously placate Harry and shrug off any seriousness his question might have brought up.

"Yes, I am sure I am in an alternate universe," Harry answered, "I'm reminded that I am in an alternate universe every bloody day. I would like to go home, but I haven't been able to so far."

"I was actually wondering if you two would like to help Harry get back to her home universe," Steve piped up, looking at Stark and Banner with a reserved pleading look on his face.

"And I would really appreciate any help I could get at this point," Harry added, watching as Stark and Banner looked at each other with different questioning looks on their faces – as if they were asking the other if they wanted to help.

"Of what I know about inter-dimensional travel, it's all theoretical at this point; expanding it out to inter-universal travel, that's impossible," Banner replied with caution, though Harry could tell he was already thinking about ways to resolve the problem.

"Well, if it was impossible then I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be here," Harry told him with a slight smirk on her face.

"She has a point," Stark told Banner, "and you have complained that you've been bored recently."

The two scientists looked at each other: Stark with an excited smirk on his face, Banner with an eager glint in his eye.

"When do we start?" Stark asked Harry, the two men waiting for her answer.

Harry smiled at them.

"We can start right now if you want," she answered.

This was either going to turn out really well or it was going to be a terrible decision. Either way, Harry had something she hadn't had in months – hope.

* * *

Author's Note:

Congrats! If you have come this far then you have completed Part 1 of my story. Yep, I consider this the end of Part 1 - basically the story of Harry and Steve becoming friends.

So what can you expect from Part 2? Action, for one. A lot more action and fighting is coming up so hopefully it will be a different pace from here on out (if it isn't then I'm just really bad at writing). Another contest as well, which will be explained later on when it becomes more relevant.

As for the previous contest: the winner has decided on her reward, so plan on seeing a new collection of one-shots that I will be publishing soon that will tie-in with this story.

Anyway, sorry about how short the chapter is. I want to give a big thank you to everyone who has favorited the story so far - the number of favorites I have is a crazy number and not one I was ever expecting.

Thank you all again for the love and support for the story and I hope you all have a great Tuesday.


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